Reunion
by Tajjas
Summary: Two ex-shipmates whose lives didn't work out the way they'd expected meet up some time after the show ended. As it turns out, neither is as much of a loner as he'd like to be. AU for obvious reasons.
1. Surprise Meetings

_Rewatching Andromeda, and it turns out that my WTF memories of seasons 4/5 are…really accurate. And season 3 has some seriously shaky spots too. I know what happened to the show, but I can't help wishing it had lived up to its potential a little more. So this is my reunion of two of the characters that I thought deserved way better than they got. For this I'm assuming:_

 _1\. Tyr didn't come back after he left at the end of season 3_

 _2\. Tyr still has bone blades along his forearms, because a magically altering skeletal structure for no good reason is ridiculous. Seriously, I'll take time travel over that._

 _3\. Seefra happened because I haven't got a good way to retcon two seasons of the show, but I'm happy enough to sum it up as 'a bad, bad time' and the bits that matter will be covered in the fic._

* * *

Harper bit back a sigh and the smart retort that he really wanted to make. One problem with running your own business, at least if you wanted to stay in business, was that you couldn't point out when your customers were being complete idiots.

Even if they were.

Possibly especially if they were.

Hey, three years running a bar on Seefra-hell had to have taught him _something_ , and this little run-down repair shop in a corner of a nowhere drift wasn't all that much different than that place, although at least here he didn't have to worry about being attacked for the high crime of fixing something.

Of course, a downside to here was that there were more Ubers around, including the one in front of him, and while Harper was armed, he also couldn't go around shooting his customers and expect to stay in business.

"I fixed your 'corder," Harper said, trying to keep the annoyance he felt out of his voice. "It's the miracle of commerce and capitalism—you pay me, I give you your 'corder back, and everyone goes home happy." Or at least this idiot got the hell out of his shop which was all he gave a damn about.

Well, almost all he gave a damn about. He wasn't in the habit of working for free no matter what the Uber seemed to expect. Call him a kludge, whatever, but he was no one's slave.

The Uber sneered, and Harper wondered idly if he could claim some kind of reward from the other Nietzscheans on the station if this did turn into a shooting match. Surely removing this kind of stupidity from their precious gene pool had to be worth something.

Bone blades snapped up as the man lunged across the counter, and a blast from Harper's repulsor pistol sent him flying backwards into the shelving unit at the front of the store. He hit hard, smashing through the near support post and damaging the one behind it, and the entire unit creaked and began to collapse sideways, stopping only when the top hit the matching shelving unit on the other side of the shop entrance. The man groaned, lying where he'd fallen for a moment, and then growled and began to push himself to his feet.

"Damn Ubers," Harper muttered as he upped the setting quickly. He hadn't wanted to shoot to kill—that would almost certainly bring what passed for drift security down on him, and leaving aside the fact that he didn't have a lot of money for bribes, the word of a kludge wasn't worth much where Ubers were concerned—but he would if he had to. There were plenty of unmaintained corridors around here to dump a body in, and it wasn't much different slapping a couple grav disks on a dead body than an unconscious one. "It's time for you leave," he said coldly, holding the whining pistol level. "That's the door right behind you."

"You will regret this!"

"Not putting a hole in your forehead? Probably, but blood gets down in the floor grates and then it's a pain in the ass to clean up."

For a moment it looked like the idiot might actually come at him again, at which point Harper _would_ remove him from the gene pool and damn the consequences, but instead he snarled, turning and shoving the fallen shelf out of his way.

Harper sighed as metal shelving met metal floor and the bits of circuitry that had held on as the unit had made its sideways descent finally lost their fight and went flying all over the room. "Jackass." He raised his voice. "And your 'corder wasn't even broken, you just forgot to charge it!"

No response from the Uber who was already rounding the corner at the first junction which probably just as well all things considered, and with a sigh he holstered his repulsor and went to see how salvageable the shelving unit was. And, for that matter, how salvageable the contents were. Not that there had been much of value there in the first place, that was why he hadn't worried about it being so close to the door and the lurking pickpockets, but in a place like this every credit counted.

"Still making friends everywhere you go, aren't you little professor?"

Harper jerked, swiveling back towards the doorway, and one hand dropped back to his repulsor automatically. That corridor had been empty just a minute ago. And yet…. "Tyr?"

It was a stupid question, and he knew that it was a stupid question because Tyr was the only person who'd ever called him that, but Tyr was long gone. To the point of dead, Harper had privately figured, since he hadn't been leading the Nietzschean fleet and there was no way he'd willingly have turned that position over to anyone else. And yet the once-familiar figure was right there, arms crossed across his chest and casually taking up most of the doorway, smirking.

"Hey," Harper said slowly, letting his hand fall from his side-arm. If Tyr wanted to hurt him, he could do it before the weapon even cleared the holster anyway. He pushed himself to his feet. "Long time no see."

Tyr uncrossed his arms and entered, giving the shop a slow once-over, his face not giving anything away. "I can't say that I expected to find you here," he said finally, returning his gaze to Harper.

Harper shrugged, a dozen different responses floating through his head, but "Could say the same to you," was all that came out in the end. In another time and place he might have said more and trusted that Tyr would understand, but things had changed a lot since then. _He'd_ changed a lot since then.

Tyr dipped his head slightly. "I take it from the sign outside this…establishment…that you hire out your services."

"For the right price," Harper said with a nod, feeling a little more solid. And a tiny bit annoyed at the skepticism in Tyr's tone, even if he knew Tyr well enough to know that most of it was feigned. Probably. "To people who don't talk trash about my shop."

That got a scoff. "My ship has developed a tremor when I exit slipstream. I've had no issues in transit itself, and diagnostics have cleared it three times, but I know what I feel." A pause. "When the examination here was complete, I was informed by this station's primary mechanic that travel in slipstream is often trying on the nerves. You'll understand why I'm looking elsewhere for assistance."

Harper grinned despite himself. "Old Kemmer actually told you that you were imagining things? To your face?"

"Over a vid screen. For some reason he wasn't available to meet in person."

"There's a shock."

Tyr shook his head, a shadow of a smile crossing his face as well. "I came here because I heard a rumor from a pilot on another ship about someone down in this area who could fix anything. I'm not sure that he was referring to _you_ , but sometimes one must make do."

A good recommendation was always nice to hear about, whatever else Tyr had to say, and Harper grinned. "I am the best, and you know it. And I suppose I've got the time." An actual paying job would be better than trying to get this place back in order anyway, especially since it looked like he'd have to sell that Uber's 'corder if he wanted to get anything out of it. The Chichin that ran the pawn shop always gave him the creeps. "Five hundred thrones for an hour of diagnostic work. If it looks like it'll take longer we settle on price before I continue."

"One hundred, and I won't smash up anything else in your shop."

"Try it. I already shot one Nietzschean today."

Harper expected a sneer and a comment about inferior specimens, but instead something dark and unidentifiable crossed Tyr's face and he shook his head. "Three hundred."

"I'll grab my gear."

* * *

Tyr glanced down at Harper, keeping pace beside him despite his shorter stride, and felt a definite sense of familiarity. And a hint of fondness, not that he'd ever admit that. A few years ago this would have been a common enough occurrence; the two of them sent off on a supply run or one of Dylan's nonsense crusades and trying to make the best of it. Now, though…a lot had changed. And not just for him, it seemed.

When he'd heard the rumors about a kludge who could fix anything he'd been desperate enough to track down whatever was wrong with his slipstream drive to pay a visit, but he hadn't expected to hear a familiar voice facing down some fool. And then taking down said fool when the idiot didn't take the hint. For all his small size, Harper was a survivor, and fewer recognized that than should.

He still didn't know why Harper was here, though. In the minds of some in this universe Tyr's name would always be linked with the Andromeda Ascendant so it was in his best interests to stay informed as to their general status, and as last he heard they were off playing savior somewhere in the Orr'ien sector with no indication that they were missing an engineer. Or that they had been for some time, if the fact that Harper had an established shop here was anything to go by.

"So, stab anybody in the back recently?" Harper asked as they entered the main concourse, before Tyr could ask any questions.

"Only when it served my purposes," Tyr responded, keeping his tone equally casual.

Harper snorted.

"Do you intend to hold my previous actions against me?" He should have asked that before even mentioning his problem, but Tyr had been surprised enough to find Harper—and, honestly, glad, because even if he would never say it out loud if anyone could identify his trouble it would be the little professor—that he hadn't thought a great deal about it. A transaction had been made; what else needed to be said?

"Extra, extra, read all about it," Harper said with a roll of his eyes. "Nietzschean acts like Nietzschean. In other news: water is wet, space is big, and Seefra sucks."

"Seefra?"

Harper waved it off. "What's done is done. You didn't get us killed so I can't exactly hold that against you, and a lot of things that pissed me off five or six years ago just don't anymore. You've got a job that sounds marginally more interesting than being smart enough to plug in a charger so I'll do it."

"Good." Of all his previous crewmates from the Andromeda, Harper's views had—generally—been close enough to Nietzschean enough to be reasonable. And yet…. "Five years? Did that fool strike you in the head? It hasn't even been three since we last saw each other."

"For you." Harper looked up at him, a tired expression crossing his face. "Here's another bit of news that we both learned a while back: time travel's a bitch."

It wasn't until Tyr's hand landed against the back of Harper's neck, fingertips flexing gently against skin, that he even realized that he'd moved.

Harper's expression softened a little, and one skinny elbow bumped Tyr's ribcage. "Kind of missed you, big guy. You might drive me crazy sometimes, but at least I get how you think." A pause. "Plus, there were a lot of bar fights."

Tyr felt a flicker of amusement and released Harper with a shove as they reached the docking bay. "That is my ship." It was nothing special, at least on the outside, a rebuilt scout from one fallen empire or another with a bit more cargo capacity than some. He'd paid good money for the work done on the engines, though, and the speed they granted him, and he wasn't surprised at Harper's low whistle when Tyr let him into the engine room.

"You got a _nice_ setup here," Harper observed as he stepped closer to the drive. A pause. "What do you even do these days?"

Tyr let a dangerous smile cross his face, deliberately stepping up and looming over the smaller man, and for a moment he again saw a flash of the Harper he'd known as Harper jumped back. But there was no accompanying yelp, and the hand that fell to his belt was steady. And rather than the nanowelder that he'd tended to reach for on Andromeda, today it landed on the handle of a pistol. Whatever else the last two—or, apparently, five—years had done, Harper had gotten harder.

He relaxed his posture, and after a minute Harper did the same. With a muttered comment about Tyr's sense of humor that Tyr let pass.

"I primarily offer my services as a bodyguard and courier," Tyr said instead.

"Not really what you were going for when you left," Harper said.

"No," Tyr agreed. "Perhaps Dylan's notions infected me more than I realized, but I expected…." He shook his head. "I expected more from them." He didn't specify who, but then, he didn't have to.

"I sort of figured you'd be running the whole thing."

"If I had been, things wouldn't have gone so easily for you."

Harper's jaw clenched, eyes flashing, and Tyr remembered abruptly just which planet had been destroyed in the final days of the war.

"But they were unable to look past the status-quo to the future," he said, pushing on rather than trying to backtrack. His words had been true enough—the Commonwealth wouldn't have had such an easy fight if he'd been in command—but there had been no advantage to gain by destroying such a nothing of a planet as Earth. He wouldn't have done it. "They were unable to look away from the way they'd always done things to the possibility of…." Tyr trailed off with a shake of his head, feeling disgust rising again. He'd known that he'd have to include the Drago-Kazov in his united Prides, as little as he'd liked the idea, but even he had never expected the level of _inferiority_ they'd shown. Of the complete unwillingness to see the greatness that could be.

In the end it hadn't been just the Drago-Kazov, either, _none_ of them had been willing to take that step. When they'd cast him out of their alliance it had been almost anti-climactic. And then they'd gone and lost. In a way he'd been glad to see it, even as he'd accepted that he'd been watching the collapse of his greatest dreams. He would still work for the betterment of the universe as he could, if only to give his son a situation improved upon his own, but the grand alliance that he'd hoped for had been a grand failure.

He sometimes wondered if that was how the Nietzscheans who'd tried to take over in place of the Commonwealth had felt three centuries ago.

"Yeah, after a while it gets tiring trying to save a universe that pretty clearly doesn't want saving," Harper said quietly. Before Tyr could think of a response, he shook himself, his tone returning to normal. "So let's see what's up with this slipstream drive of yours."

"The main access panel is there."

Harper nodded and opened his tool bag, popping the cover of the panel off and going to work among the wires. Tyr had enough knowledge of basic engineering to manage the most common, simple repairs, but that was all. For the rest he'd had to trust to mechanics scattered across drifts. It was good to have someone that he knew was competent taking a look.

Harper seemed to relax a little as his fingers flew across the boards, and it wasn't long before he twisted sideways and popped open another panel without asking for approval. Tyr shook his head and retrieved a flexi to read while Harper worked. It was obvious that his presence had already been forgotten.

Harper finally stepped back, half a dozen more panels open and wires exposed, and frowned up at the slipstream core itself.

"What is it, professor?"

"They're right, Tyr." Harper looked over at him. "There's not a damn thing wrong with your drive. Slipstream or otherwise. I mean, I see about twenty things that will need to be fixed soon, and about fifty things that one lunatic or another decided were good shortcuts that make my head hurt just looking at them, but there is nothing here that would cause a tremor."

"I am not imagining things."

"Yeah, yeah, I didn't figure you were." Harper returned to frowning at the drive. "Can I get into your computers? Take a look at the records from the jumps themselves?"

"Mind where your attention goes," Tyr warned.

"Yeah, I got it."

Tyr gestured for him to go ahead, and after a moment of work Harper took a seat on the floor and jacked himself into the system. The important files were encrypted—obviously—although Tyr doubted that that would make much of a difference if Harper decided that he really wanted to know. Harper had a problem in front of him, though, and unless he'd changed a great deal more than Tyr thought, that would remain the only thing on his mind for the time being.


	2. Trouble

_Thanks to everyone who read. As always, reviews are appreciated._

* * *

"You don't have a slipstream problem, you have a bug problem," Harper announced as he disconnected himself from Tyr's ship. Announced to empty air, as it turned out, and he pushed himself to his feet, turning to survey the room. "Uh, Tyr? Hello?"

Tyr wasn't exactly the kind of guy who'd let someone wander around his ship alone, ex-crewmate or not, and Harper wasn't surprised to hear footsteps a few moments later.

"You've been in there for almost two hours," Tyr said. "Come eat something and explain what is happening."

Two hours meant that he'd missed his timeline for negotiating further payment—not for the first time, damn it, as much as he loved interesting problems, he really sucked at the business side of them—but food was food, and Tyr knew better than to joke about that kind of thing. "You've got a bug problem," he repeated as he followed Tyr through the hatch into the next compartment. "And not the kind that hire out as slipstream pilots, either."

"Excuse me?" Tyr asked, looking down at him.

"Someone managed to get a virus into your computer system, and from everything I can see it's a nasty one. They've been tracking you when you transit through slipstream. The tremors have been when the tracking program has been throwing out a marker every time you drop into normal space. It's not actually a tremor, but I'm sure that's what it feels like to whoever is piloting. Namely, you know, you."

Tyr growled, bone blades twitching, and Harper tensed automatically. He'd had his fill of angry Nietzscheans for the day, thanks. Especially since unlike that idiot earlier, Tyr was very capable of being dangerous when he felt like it. A moment—and a vicious scowl back in the general direction of the engine room—later and Tyr calmed again, though, and he gestured for Harper to precede him into the galley. He dished out two portions of whatever was on the stove as Harper climbed up onto a stool, putting one in front of Harper before taking a seat himself across the counter.

Whatever the collection of ingredients in front of him actually was, it smelled good, and Harper's stomach abruptly reminded him that he hadn't had much besides breakfast today. Assuming he'd eaten breakfast. He didn't skip meals intentionally, but remembering wasn't always a sure thing when his focus was elsewhere.

"Explain this bug," Tyr ordered as they both began to eat. "They're watching my slipstream routes?"

"That much for sure. The bug's got tendrils that go a lot of places, though, and if everything looks passive now, I can't guarantee that it always acts that way. Or that it always will act that way. I did some digging, but there was no way I could just root it out without alerting whoever put it in and possibly triggering some trapdoor programs." He gestured at the bowl with his spoon. "This is good."

Tyr looked vaguely pleased at the compliment but it was obvious where his focus was. "So you can't do it?"

"Hey, trust in the Harper. The Harper is good. But it'll take me some time to figure out the best way to even start," he admitted.

"What kind of time are we talking about?"

"Figure at least a day to really look around, find where all the links go, and try to plan things out. After that…," he shrugged. "Once I get started, it's going to go fast." It was going to have to if he didn't want to trigger alerts everywhere. He took another couple bites. Whatever this was, it was _really_ good. And he wasn't just saying that because when he did remember to eat he lived off ration crackers, Sparky, and the occasional greasy something-approaching-burger from the shop at the corner junction.

"I want to know who put it in," Tyr said. "Now."

Harper snorted. "Sure, and next week I'll get you elected Vedran Empress."

This time the growl was directed at him, and he shrugged. "Look, I can get you a timeline. I'm guessing you can match that to a station easily enough."

"You think it happened on station and wasn't done by a client?"

"Not likely. I mean, I don't know what kind of clients you're picking up, but with this kind of bug…one of your clients _could_ have dropped it in in transit or on their way off ship, but aside from the fact that that would be stupidly obvious, it's way too intricate to be followed by that level of sloppy." Given the level of sophistication the bug showed, the idea was almost professionally offensive. "I'd bet on it being an outside hack while you were tied into a station's power supply. Not the easiest thing to do, but there's a lot more back-and-forth there than most people realized."

"Mail?"

"Unless you're responding to offers to help the exiled prince of Naranda collect his fortune in exchange for a large reward, I'd look somewhere a little less obvious. And the less obvious options are the ones that will be next to impossible to put a name on."

Tyr tilted his head. "What if someone hired an engineer to put it in while they were doing the work I actually hired them for?"

"Were the engineers you hired insane?"

"Harper…."

"I'm serious, Tyr," Harper said with another shrug. "I mean, it's not totally out of the question, just like it could have been a client. I've seen some of the other work they've done here and insanity is not totally beyond the realm of possibility. It's a hell of a thing to spend your reputation on, though. Believe me or don't but I'm as good as it gets, it took me most of an hour to even find the bug, and there's still no way in hell I'd consider something like that. Word gets out and you're _done_." Professionally certainly, probably personally too because that was the kind of thing that got a guy shot. Especially if they were doing it to someone like Tyr.

"You said next to impossible," Tyr said after a minute. "What's the option that might work?"

Harper rocked a hand. "For the record, I think it's a bad plan, but if you want me to, I could trigger one of the watchdog programs and try to trace the signal. Note the _try_ in that sentence, though, the coding is solid and if I'm right they've had some time to cover their tracks. I'm more likely to get you to a dead drop rather than a person and then they'd know that you know." He didn't like admitting the last, but it was true, and Tyr wouldn't thank him for lying.

"Better not to warn them," Tyr turned and reached behind him for the pot, setting it on the table. He dished himself another serving and gestured for Harper to help himself as well. "Can you do the opposite and keep whoever it is from knowing that their program has been disturbed?"

"That's easier," Harper said after a minute, copying Tyr's actions. "I'll know for sure what kind of reporting functions it's got after I look around a little more, but I should be able to spoof something similar that you can control. No guarantees how long it will last, though. With something like that, I wouldn't be surprised if they had some pretty good diagnostic programs built in—actually I'd be a lot more surprised if they didn't—and finding and squashing those at the same time as the main program will be trickier."

"It won't need to last long. I just need to get back to the station it was planted on."

He wasn't even attempting to hide the threat in his voice, and Harper grinned. "And there's the Tyr we all know and love."

Tyr scoffed, and reached across the table, and it didn't even occur to Harper to duck until the cuff had ghosted across his hair lightly. He had missed Tyr. And not just because it would have been nice to have him around when the idiots of the week had been smashing up his bar. The second bowl of food was more than enough to fill him up, although Tyr went back for a third.

"So when do you want me to do this?" Harper asked as Tyr finished as well. "Assuming that you do." Not that there was a Chichin's chance on an ice planet that Tyr would let whatever this program was stand, but it was just barely possible that he wouldn't want Harper involved.

"You can start tonight," Tyr said.

"I can start tomorrow, assuming we agree on payment," Harper corrected. "It's not a big deal for me to shut my place down for a couple days, but I need to get a few things finished up and sent back tonight and a notice posted." Getting away from his place for a couple days after what had happened with the Uber earlier would probably be a good idea, all things considered, but his life, or what there was of it these days, was here. He couldn't just forget that. He saw Tyr open his mouth to object and cut him off. " _I_ have to make a living after you move on."

Tyr didn't look happy, no surprise, but he did nod. "Tomorrow. Eight. Suggest a reasonable fee." A pause. "I put double your initial fee into your account this evening given that you were in there for about two hours."

'About' was at least three since Harper had been working with the hardware for a while before going in, but the amount was pretty fair considering that Harper had been the one to forget negotiations after the initial deadline had passed. Plus Tyr had fed him. "Call it 10,000 thrones. And can I have breakfast here?"

A hint of amusement crossed Tyr's face. "Six thousand for rooting the program out, another thousand if you keep whoever did it from knowing what happened. And you can eat whatever meals you'd like here while you're working."

"Eight and I'll do my damndest. Plus food." Because there was no way that he was letting an offer like that pass.

"Done."

* * *

Tyr checked the chronometer and his lips curled in a snarl. Harper was late. A few minutes one way or the other he wouldn't have thought anything about, Harper had never been the most punctual of his shipmates—just reference Dylan's constant complaining about the crew's level of professionalism—but at this point breakfast had gone cold.

He checked his sidearm and then headed back across the station to the mess of a shop that Harper claimed as his own. The little professor had most likely just gotten sidetracked cleaning up after that nonsense yesterday, but leaving aside the cold food, some pointless distraction didn't mean that Tyr was going to tolerate this tracking program on his ship for one moment longer than necessary. As it stood he'd already had trouble falling asleep last night and probably hadn't gotten more than two hours in total.

Harper hadn't given him the timeline yet, but based on the change in his ship's behavior there were only three possible stations where the bug could have been planted, and he could get back to any of them within a few jumps. Easy enough to do in one day. Once he arrived back at that station…well, whatever Harper thought he was going to be questioning every single person that he'd allowed to work on his ship, and there were certain other avenues that he could pursue as well. He didn't know precisely why he was being tracked yet, but he planned to ensure that it never happened again.

The entrance to Harper's shop was shut and the sign clearly said closed when Tyr approached, but he could hear the murmur of voices through the door, and he was raising his hand to knock—forcefully—when he smelled the blood. Blood and fear and that was enough for him to draw his gun and give the door a solid kick.

A considerably less solid kick would have done the job as it flew open with a bang, and he stepped inside with his gun leveled.

Harper was on the floor on his knees, his shirt torn and his hands bound behind him. It was obvious that he'd been beaten, and Tyr's weapon immediately moved to pan the other occupants of the room. Three of them, all Nietzschean, the smallest of whom was probably fifty pound heavier than Harper. And sporting an ugly black eye, which was at least something. One of the others was most likely the fool from yesterday although Tyr hadn't paid him a great deal of attention at the time; the other two were clearly blood relatives. Brothers, Tyr suspected, with obviously similarly inferior genes.

Just like far too many of his people.

"This doesn't concern you," one of them growled.

"I've hired him for a job," Tyr said, nodding towards Harper. "You are preventing him from doing that job. Please, feel free to elaborate on how that doesn't concern me." Harper was still frightened, that much was obvious enough, but his shoulders had started to twitch, and Tyr suspected that he was in the process of freeing his hands. It was a start.

"We've just been teaching the worthless kludge a lesson about what happens when you show disrespect to a member of our Pride," the youngest of the three males said.

Tyr let his face show the disgust that was in no way feigned. "It takes three of you—Puma, correct?—to tie up and beat one undersized human? I fail to see why anyone _would_ respect you."

The fool off to his left growled and then proved his inferiority by launching himself at Tyr, and Tyr didn't bother to waste a shot, blocking the attack and slamming him to the ground hard enough that he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon. One of the others, the one who'd likely taken issue with Harper yesterday, went for his gun, but Harper was rolling and the man was sprawled on his stomach before it cleared his holster. The youngest mimicked the first, attempting a physical attack on Tyr, and was dealt with in a similar manner as his brother. As Tyr spun back to handle the third before he could get the better of Harper, the man screamed in pain and began to writhe on the ground.

The reason was obvious a moment later as the man flipped onto his back still screaming and Tyr saw Harper's nanowelder driven _through_ his shin. Tyr leaned over and punched him hard enough to render him unconscious along with his brothers.

"Are you all right?" Tyr asked as Harper rolled to his feet, making no move to approach. Harper had freed his hands as Tyr had thought he might, but he also had a knife in one hand—clearly these sorry excuses for Nietzscheans hadn't even been capable of searching or tying him properly, and never mind that Harper had already out-shot of one of them yesterday—but he didn't look particularly steady, and it wasn't at all clear that he recognized Tyr. Tyr kept his hands where they were visible and let his bone blades ease down slowly. He could handle Harper easily enough, but it had been a few years since they'd fought together, and having to hit him wouldn't precisely help the situation. "Harper?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Sorry." Harper shook his head and then winced. "Assholes." He reached down and pried his nanowelder out of the man's shin, paying no attention to the smell of charred flesh or the flow of blood that followed, and both that and the knife disappeared into various pockets of his pants. "Thanks. I was afraid that that was going to get ugly." He looked down at himself and then craned his neck to look at the cuts on the back of his shoulder. "Uglier."

Tyr shook his head. "I want that program out of my ship, and you are my best chance of making that happen. How badly are you injured?" Aside from blood on his wrists and hands and the obvious marks of a beating on his face and chest, the rips and blood lines across the back of Harper's clothing indicated that he'd been whipped with some kind of narrow object, and there was no way to know what else they might have tried. At least his eyes seemed to be tracking steadily now with no sign of a concussion.

"I'll live," Harper said with a shrug. And another wince. "It's not as bad as it looks. They only grabbed me on my way out the door this morning, and none of them seemed real clear about what they wanted to do to me besides smack me around. And it's not like it's my first time on the wrong side of a pack of Ubers."

Tyr wasn't a fan of that particular term, but under the circumstances he held his tongue. He believed completely in having overwhelming odds on his side when it came to a fight, but Harper was smaller, weaker…. And tying him up and beating him for no purpose except their ridiculous conceit because they hadn't wanted to pay him for a job he'd done? Probably done well, knowing him? Cowards and bullies, the lot of them.

"Besides, they couldn't even figure out that if you're going to whip someone, it's not a real bright idea to bind their hands behind them before you do it," Harper said. "My arms took the worst of it."

Tyr closed his eyes. It was fools like these that proved that his people had _deserved_ to lose.

"Are you okay?"

He waved it off. Explaining would take too long, and given their respective histories it wasn't something that Harper ever would—could—agree with anyway. "Get your things and come with me," he ordered instead.

"I've got to get cleaned up," Harper said with a shake of his head. "I've got get this place cleaned up. Figure out what they didn't destroy. I—"

"Get your things, little man," Tyr repeated. "Someone is bound to come looking for them eventually and I doubt that it will go well for you if you're here when they do." He looked around. "Somehow I doubt that you're going to find very much intact, anyway."

"I guess you've got a point there," Harper said after a minute, and his sigh was audible. "At least I got the stuff I was done with dropped off last night."

He ducked behind the counter and through a door mostly hidden by shadow. He didn't shut it behind him, and after checking that the three idiots were still unconscious Tyr peered in. As far as quarters went these were almost small enough to make him feel claustrophobic: a narrow bunk on one wall that would barely even fit Harper with some clothes scattered underneath it, a screen and workbench covered with unidentifiable metal bits on the opposite barely an arms-length away, and a small table with a couple ration cartons and few cans of that vile drink that Harper preferred next to a door at the far end of the room. That door was shut, but the smell of blood and antiseptic was clear enough, and quiet muttering was muted by the sound of running water.

Harper reemerged a few minutes later looking marginally better. Long sleeves hid most of the injuries that Tyr knew were there, and if there wasn't much that he could do about the split knuckles or the bruises on his face, even those were less obvious with the blood washed away. He seemed to be moving tolerably well as he dug out a bag and tossed several of the metal objects from his workbench in, and after a moment he looked up at Tyr with a frown. "They made me miss breakfast, didn't they?"

"It will survive reheating." He nodded to the bunk. "Clothing and personal items as well. It will be safer if you stay on my ship for a day or two."

Harper glared. "I can take care of myself. You seriously think I don't have a back way into this place?"

"I'm sure that you do," although Tyr had no idea where it could be hidden given the layout of this place, "but what's the point in coming back here if you can't open the door for customers? Besides, if your front door had a lock, I broke it." Not that it had taken much. As flimsy as the thing had proved, it was lucky that he hadn't kicked the door right off its hinges. "They're likely to do worse when they wake up."

Harper scowled, but unlike the men unconscious out front he was no fool, and after a moment he sighed and knelt to dig some clothes out from under the bed.


	3. To Work

_Thanks to everyone who's been reading. As always, reviews are appreciated._

* * *

Harper twisted to look back in the general direction of his shop, but Tyr was right. There was no way that things ended well for him if he was there when those idiots woke up. Or when someone came looking for them, more likely, given that Tyr had been the one to put them out and he wasn't one for pulling punches. Fortunately Harper didn't have much of any worth for them to destroy, and what he did have was now safely in his duffel slung over his shoulder.

"How did they ambush you?" Tyr asked.

"Stupidity. On my part, unfortunately." Not that they'd been much for brains either, but that he'd expected. "I went in the back way last night," or at least he'd swung through the maintenance corridors, crawled up around the pipes of the water reclamation system, and let himself down in through the space around the electrical panel, which might not actually count as an entrance, but he'd never been picky about that kind of thing, "but then I went and unlocked the door this morning to leave after I put up the days-of-closure sign." His focus had been on viruses and slipstream drives and interesting problems that might actually challenge his intellect, not oversized underbrained Ubers who needed to find better things to do with their time.

Tyr's lip curled in derision. "You deserved to be beaten."

"No, I _didn't_ ," Harper snapped, fingers curling in almost instinctively. Had it been stupid of him to open the door? Hell, yes. Had he expected to get beaten as soon as he saw them? Yep to that too. But no one _deserved_ to get beaten, him included, and he was long since out of patience with people who seemed to think otherwise. Not that that ever stopped it from happening.

For an instant Tyr looked surprised at his sudden vehemence, but he closed his mouth rather than press the matter further, and right now Harper would take it. There was a marginal chance that Tyr would understand better than another Nietzschean, but he still wouldn't care to take odds on it. And he sure as hell wasn't going to waste time explaining.

"You got in at least one hit, unless they were brawling among themselves," Tyr said after a minute.

"Yeah," Harper said, making his hands relax again. He didn't like it, but he knew full well how the universe worked. "Yeah, pretty much just that, though." When he'd seen them he'd only had about half a second to brace himself, and while hitting the first one had been damn satisfying, the blows they'd given him in return hadn't been. It was probably just as well that there had been three of them and once he'd curled into a ball he made a reasonably small target because they'd gotten in each other's way more than once. Fewer blows were always a good thing, however it came about, and in this case it meant that he'd gotten off with only bruised ribs rather than bruised and broken ones.

He rolled his shoulders under his jacket and felt the plastiflesh stretch against his skin, but the numbing gel was doing its job and there was no pain from the actual gashes. Good news, for once, even if he only had a couple days' worth of the stuff. They'd tied him on his knees and lashed him half a dozen times to make him scream, but if they'd striped him from neck to knee like they'd been talking about when Tyr had burst in, he'd be in a lot worse shape. Not that that still might not happen when he ended up going back to his shop, but on a drift like this there were always lines being drawn, feuds ongoing…if he kept his head down for a few weeks, there was a chance that things would blow over. Revenge on one kludge wasn't worth much in the grand scheme of things.

Then again, they were Ubers, if not Dragans, and given the state of his shop, it might not be such a bad idea to take a chunk of what Tyr was going to pay him and switch shop locations entirely. It wasn't what he really wanted to spend the money on, but it wasn't as if it would be enough to get him to Infinity Atoll for a much-needed vacation anyway, so he might as well focus on the whole survival thing.

Or…. He looked up at Tyr. Possibly, if Tyr didn't make too many more stupid comments, he could trade some of the other work that needed to be done in that engine room for passage to wherever Tyr was headed next. Assuming that it wasn't a Nietzschean colony, but if it was a typical station or drift there was no reason that he couldn't pick up work there the same way that he had here. Open a new shop. He brightened a little. Options.

Tyr looked down at him again, raising an eyebrow, and he shook his head. It was a good idea assuming that Tyr would agree, but there was no sense in getting into it now.

"Do you need to go to medical?" Tyr asked as they entered the ship. "I may have a few things in stock appropriate for a human, and your wrists don't look good.

"Nah, I'm fine," Harper said, rolling his hands so the cuffs of his jacket slid down to hide those injuries. "Might as well get started." Wrists were a pain to bind at the best of times for someone who used his hands the way Harper did, and since his were among the least of his injuries with more bruises than cuts—and the cuts were mostly his fault since he'd been in a hurry to slip the bindings—he hadn't bothered beyond a quick cleaning. They'd be interesting colors for a while and then fade back to normal.

"Breakfast?" Tyr asked.

"After breakfast," he agreed quickly. He'd swallowed a little blood, but not enough that his stomach was in danger of rebelling.

As yesterday the food was good, even if Harper wasn't entirely sure what it was. Tyr didn't seem to be in the mood to talk, but Harper had gotten quieter in the past few years too, and the silence wasn't uncomfortable. And then there was work to do, and he found himself a spot against one of the consoles that didn't put pressure on fresh bruises and sent his consciousness off through the ship's neural paths to check out the virus. It wasn't anything like interfacing with Andromeda had been, but these days that was a comfort.

The bug was just as nasty as he'd figured after his cursory exam yesterday. The primary coding was centered inside the slipstream navigation system, and there was no way that it was intended to stay entirely passive, but there were tendrils snaking down into regular propulsion, life support, communications, weapons…. He spent some time chasing down specific destinations, some of which made sense and some of which didn't—seriously, of all the life support systems to tap into, secondary carbon filtration would not have been Harper's first thought—but regardless it was going to be a big job. He disconnected himself from the computer and looked around. "Tyr?"

No sign of him, but it had been a couple hours since he'd gone in and it was no surprise that Tyr wouldn't have wanted to sit around and wait. Harper still didn't think he was likely to have gone far enough to let Harper sneak around his ship undetected, though, and he pushed himself to his feet. "Tyr?"

There was no immediate response, but Tyr's ears were good enough that he should have heard if he was in the general vicinity. After a few minutes with no sign of the big guy, Harper pushed himself to his feet and wandered back towards the galley. He wasn't quite insane enough to go snooping where he hadn't yet been, but wandering down a hallway wasn't _exactly_ snooping, and anyway—

"What are you doing?" Tyr asked, stepping out from one of the cross halls.

"Looking for you." Harper shrugged. "I'm going to need some supplies."

"Supplies as in…?"

"Wire. A lot of wire. I've got some back at the shop, but probably not enough." And that assumed that he could get to it. Well, he could definitely get to it, but whether there was some kind of ambush waiting for him was a whole different question. Especially since Tyr had apparently broken his door.

"Why?"

"Short version? This thing has fingers down into half a dozen major systems and I'm going to need to power cycle all of them at once if you want to be sure the bug doesn't get anything out." He paused. "Well, killing communications might be enough to do that, but considering the number of bad things likely to happen if your point-defense lasers suddenly go active while you're on-station I figured better safe than sorry."

"I can undock easily enough."

"Life support is on the list too." He paused. "Admittedly, it's weird life support, but I'm assuming that you don't want me messing around with that while we're hanging out in space if there's another option."

Tyr growled slightly, which Harper took as agreement.

"I can do some basic reconfiguring with the software, but the way this thing is put together I'd feel way better doing it with hardware interlocks. So, wire."

"Come with me. Getting yourself shot going back there doesn't serve either of our purposes."

"So where are we going?"

Tyr ignored the question and signaled for Harper to follow.

"Well, that's enlightening." Still, there was no reason not to follow, and Harper trailed him down a different corridor and then up a ladder and into a half-filled cargo bay. And then up to the ceiling of the cargo bay as Tyr kept climbing to pull open a half-hidden hatch.

"I believe that one of the previous owners of this ship was not opposed to smuggling."

"Who is?" Harper asked curiously.

That got a flicker of a grin. "Apparently the man I bought this ship from, who didn't seem to use the shell bay except as a catch-all. I haven't had the time or inclination to clean it out, but I'm reasonably certain that I saw several spools of wire." He gestured upwards, shifting sideways on the ladder to allow Harper to pass him. "See if there's anything in there of use before you decide to go roaming the station."

Harper scrambled past easily enough and pulled himself into the upper compartment. It wasn't quite tall enough for him to stand upright, never mind Tyr, and filled with enough odds and ends in various stages of decomposition to make him wonder if his shots were up to date. "Well, I always liked treasure hunts."

* * *

Tyr paused at the entrance to his engine room. He was very sure that it hadn't looked like a minor explosion had hit when he'd left. He'd figured that it was safe enough to leave Harper alone on his ship to go order supplies when the little professor had been muttering over diagrams and scowling at Tyr when he interrupted—the odds of him putting his nose somewhere it shouldn't be were pretty much nonexistent at that point—but he hadn't expected the results in front of him. "Little man, there had better be a good explanation for this."

Harper pulled his upper body out of the console cabinet and rocked back on his ankles, looking up at Tyr. "I told you, you've got six systems that I have to power down simultaneously after I hit the bug unless you want those watchdog programs screaming bloody murder. Now, I can run around madly and hope that I get to them all in time, or I can reroute everything to one switch." He waved a hand at the massive amounts of cabling running around the engine room. "It's efficient."

That was debatable, but after a moment Tyr shifted to lean against one of the slightly less-mangled consoles. "I didn't get any messages that said that you required more."

"I don't, the spools were enough." He waved a hand towards the corner where two sat denuded and a third was mostly used up as well. "Heavier grade than I really needed, but it'll do the job." He shrugged. "For the record, I think you've got the skeleton of an XR-6 racer up there, too, but I couldn't get close enough to be sure."

Tyr looked around and shook his head. It was probably just as well that Harper hadn't been able to get to whatever this racer was, under the circumstances. He'd probably have brought it down and tied it into the rest of this mess.

"Well, do you have a better suggestion?" Harper asked, clearly still able to read his disbelief. "You can probably do the running around easier than me, but then there's a good chance that you electrocute yourself, and that was never your thing as I recall." He frowned. "I'd really like to know who the hell built this ship because I'm about to bolt a couple ladder rails onto the lower walls so I can actually reach some of the backup access panels without a freaking stepstool."

Tyr grinned.

"Yeah, funny." He reached up to scratch his forehead and made a face has his hand came away with flakes of ash. "Oh, for the record, your AP matrix release is no longer slaved to your proto mixer. And I hope you shot whoever made that call just on principle."

"Why?"

Harper frowned. "Because it's a really good way to reduce yourself to your component atoms."

Whatever slaving those two systems together did, Harper clearly didn't seem to think that further explanation was necessary, but Tyr was not an engineer. "Elaborate," he ordered.

"Well, when you go from redline standard acceleration directly into slipstream, you've got about a one in thirty-ish chance for backflow from proto matrix to hit the AP matrix at full and cause a bright, shiny spark to turn your ship into a bright, shiny fireball. If you don't spend too much time running like mad it isn't a bad way to cut a few seconds off slipstream entry, if you do, it's not a great plan. And seriously, why are you trying to cut a few seconds off slipstream entry if you're not running like mad?"

Tyr ground his teeth. That wasn't a modification that he'd approved, or at least the potential consequences had never been brought up at any point.

"Yeah, that's what I figured. If I wouldn't take the chance, you sure as hell wouldn't."

"Fix it."

"Told you, I already disconnected it." He shrugged. "Made my head hurt just looking at it anyway. Besides, if you blew yourself up in transit because of something that stupid, I'd feel guilty for like…days."

"You're aware that it is comments like that that get you beaten?"

Harper grinned and made a rude gesture in his general direction, and Tyr fought down a quick smile of his own.

"Well, when you're not making unauthorized repairs to starships, apparently you're out assaulting complete strangers."

"What?"

"I got my orders placed for supplies and happened to swing by security while I was in the vicinity," Tyr said. "You're wanted for questioning by station security in a, quote, 'vicious, unprovoked attack.' Apparently you ambushed three completely innocent men when they were out for a run, beat them unconscious, and robbed them."

"Wow. I'm good." He frowned. "Wait, they actually contacted security? I was not expecting that."

"No, I understand that someone saw your broken shop door and found them unconscious," Tyr said. "At which point they had to say something." Not that he thought that 'out for a run' was a good choice since it didn't explain why they'd been found in Harper's shop, but he also didn't see a lot of alternatives.

"And that's what they picked?" Harper shook his head. "You know, I probably should have robbed them now that I think about it. That jackass never did pay me for the repair job."

"You seem surprised."

"Nah, I've gotten pretty used to people living down to my expectations. I am impressed that you could tell me the charges with a straight face, though, especially since you did most of the hitting."

Tyr echoed the headshake. "Frankly, their story is so ridiculous that I'm tempted to suggest that you go stand in front of them, just for the sake of comparison." And his personal amusement.

Harper rolled his eyes and scrubbed his hands against his legs, grimacing at whatever the result was. "Great, thanks, because that wouldn't get me squished like a bug."

"Shot, more likely, which is why I didn't actually suggest it. Apparently they're the nephews of Puma's Alpha." And were coddled to the point of stupidity about it, and never mind that they should have been working all the harder to prove themselves and their worth.

" _Ubers_."

Tyr's jaw tightened at the slur. "Harper…."

"Sorry. Habit."

Not a habit that Tyr appreciated, but under the circumstances he let it go. Especially since he'd finally identified the sharper metallic undertone of scent beyond the standard metals and electronics and now dust in this room as blood. "Come with me."

Harper's eyes narrowed and he didn't move.

"You're bleeding again," Tyr said. "Come."

"Ah, man." Harper pushed himself to his feet, surveying the room for a minute, and then dug the ragged duffel bag he'd brought back with him earlier out from under one of the piles, nodded, and scrambled over to Tyr. "Which way?"

Medical was just past crew quarters—he needed to see if there was a spare room already made up that Harper could use—and Tyr followed Harper inside. "Do you know what your medical scans should look like?"

"More or less." He boosted himself up onto the far bunk.

Tyr kept his mouth shut as Harper shrugged out of his jacket and shirt and picked up the medical scanner. The bruising across his chest and back looked considerably worse than Tyr had expected, but Harper had light skin and didn't seem particularly concerned.

The nastiest marks—aside from the network of scarring highlighted by the bruising—were the slices across his upper arms and back, and Harper grimaced as he pulled the bandages away to reveal the oozing blood lines. "Must have twisted wrong."

"Considering the mess that you made of my engine room, I'm not sure how you could have avoided it."

"Yeah, funny. Hey, at least the numbing gel is still working."

Tyr turned and dug into the medical cabinet. He tried not to make a habit of needing it himself, but he should have basic supplies available. There was a good chance that any medication he had would be too strong for human usage, but bandages and knitters were universal.

"What happened there," he asked curiously as Harper grimaced and scrubbed the blood away with something he'd pulled out of his pack, readying another plastiflesh bandage.

"Uh, you're going to have to be a little more specific, big guy."

He had a point, Tyr supposed. Unlike the majority of the male members of the Andromeda crew, Harper had never been one for going shirtless or even sleeveless no matter how hot or dirty the work he was doing, and although Tyr had probably seen him without a shirt on a few times, he'd never noticed the latticework of scars across his back and chest before. Then again, if the rest of his skin wasn't turning such spectacular colors, he wouldn't necessarily be noticing them now. The majority were obviously years old and under normal circumstances would fade into pale skin relatively easily.

A couple were more than recognizable as souvenirs of a whip; Tyr had taken lashings from the mine overseer that would have left him with similar marks if his nannites hadn't taken care of them. Others, though…. He indicated the one he'd originally meant, arching up from Harper's waist and curving inwards towards his spine, and was surprised by the ugly snarl that crossed Harper's face. "What?"

"What do you think?" He curled an arm behind him, spacing his fingers out.

Tyr realized abruptly that the scar he'd indicated had been one of three following parallel tracks. The two matching scars that Harper indicated were more faded and far enough inside the first that he hadn't recognized them for what they had to be, and he moved his hand—and the blades lying quiescent along his forearms—away immediately.

"I was smaller then," Harper said quietly and then shook himself a little and went back to dealing with the open cuts.

"Expected," Tyr said after a minute, taking a chance and messing his hair lightly. "Deserved was…not the right word."

Harper paused, looking up at him for a long moment, and then gave him a wry smile. "Yeah, that one I can't really disagree with."


	4. Familiar Conversation

_Thanks to everyone who read and to F. D. Wurth for reviewing._

* * *

Tyr's hand locked around Harper's wrist before he could slice open the near-onion, and Harper's head jerked up. "What? I washed my hands." He'd helped Tyr once or twice when Tyr had been in the mood to cook on Andromeda and knew how picky he could be about that kind of thing. As ridiculous as Harper still found the entire concept. It wasn't like engine grease was _that_ poisonous.

"Did you just pull that out of your pocket?" Tyr demanded with a nod to the small knife that Harper held.

"Yeah." He tugged lightly against Tyr's grip. "Come on, you said to slice it, and I'm hungry." Also a little wired, despite having only brought one can of Sparky with him. It was a side effect of having an actual interesting problem to work on, he suspected, and experience said that it wouldn't last more than a few hours, but he'd enjoy the rush while it lasted. Tyr might not, though.

Tyr sighed. "Put that away and use an actual kitchen knife before you infect us both with some horrible disease. Have you even cleaned that thing since you last used it? I'm not even going to ask what you last used it on."

"What? Oh." Harper collapsed the knife when Tyr released his wrist and tucked it back in his pocket, taking the paring knife that Tyr offered instead. "Okay, I guess. But talk about picky. Aren't you the one with the super immune system?"

"That I have no intention of taxing over whatever bacteria you're carrying. It's amazing that you've survived as long as you have."

Harper made a face at him—Tyr had just buried his hands in whatever was in the bowl in front of him which meant that he couldn't even pretend to cuff Harper around right now—and then went to working on the near-onions. He wasn't kidding, he'd been busy this afternoon and had ended up skipping lunch except for that Sparky and a few crackers.

An elbow caught him in the head, and he yelped automatically despite the lack of force behind it. "Not funny."

"I thought it was funny."

"You have a sick sense of humor. And don't tell me about learning to cook so you could poison some guy with strychnine again. That story was creepy enough the first time around." Especially given the pleasure Tyr took in telling it.

"I didn't learn to cook to do that, it was merely a fortunate coincidence. Bring those here when you've finished and start on the curat." A pause. "And put that tongue back in your mouth unless you'd like to lose it."

There was a difference between burning off energy and being suicidal, and Harper did as he said and then went back to chopping.

"Have you finished making a mess of my engineering bay?" Tyr asked as the curat went in. "Or are there a few panels that you haven't destroyed yet?"

"Ha ha. You should thank me, I'm building a ridiculous list of things you let people do to your engine room that you really, really shouldn't have." Actually he suspected that most of it had been done without Tyr's knowledge by people cutting corners and knowing that they had a fair amount of time before issues showed up since Tyr was anything but suicidal, but honestly, there were limits. "The big stuff is done, but I need to finish running through their diagnostics and tracking systems and make sure I've got everything. I'll probably find a few more walls that need to be ripped open." He was solid on both life support, weird as the infiltration vector was, and weapons, but he wanted to spend some more time on the communications systems, and the others he'd only dropped flags into at this point.

"After which you can eradicate that thing?"

"Yep. Figure the rest of the setup happens tonight and tomorrow morning I'll kick the removal process off."

"You can't do it tonight? You seem to have the energy."

"Well, if I thought your ship was going to explode I'd push it, but it'd be smarter to get a night's sleep first. I'll crash sooner than you'd think, and that happening immediately after I've triggered the release sequence would not be good." He trusted his abilities and the surge of adrenaline that was sure to hit as soon as he started, but this particular virus removal wasn't exactly a life-or-death situation and there was no sense in taking pointless risks. "Besides, as of now it's just a tracking program. Hate to break it to you, big guy, but at this point they know you're here."

He could practically hear Tyr's teeth grind. "I'd be happier if I knew who 'they' was."

"You'd be happier if you could shoot 'they' in the head."

Tyr gave him one of his more evil smiles. "Of course. Put that knife in the washer and set the table."

Like the engine room, the cabinets were set high enough that Harper suspected that this ship had come from a species who'd find Tyr's height barely average, and after locating the plates he braced himself and scrambled up onto the counter.

"Boy, get down!"

Harper's feet hit the ground again at a quick yank on the back of his jacket, and if the same grip prevented his head from bouncing off the floor immediately after by holding him mostly upright, that didn't mean that it cancelled the first tug. "Well, how do you want me to get the plates down?" he demanded. "I didn't exactly bring a portable teleporter with me. Besides, don't you remember Walter?" He twisted, looking over his shoulder. "Did you get that goo on me?"

Tyr rolled his eyes and released him, rinsing his hands off quickly before handing two plates to Harper. "That goo is dinner, your jacket will wash, and you ought to know better than to put boots on a kitchen counter. Were you raised eating from the floor?"

Harper pulled his jacket around and scraped at the doughy substance. It tasted good, at least, even uncooked, and it wasn't like one more stain would show up amongst the bits of circuit-fried leather and grease stains. "Eh, not too far off; we burned most of the kitchen when I was nine or ten."

"What?"

He looked up to find Tyr frowning at him and shrugged. "What? It was wood. We were cold."

"There weren't other options?"

"Not really. The Magog raids started that fall, and…." He shrugged again. It wasn't a time that he liked to think about. "If you went too far from the rocks and the coast you were nothing but an easy target, and even when we risked it none of us were big enough to bring back anything really worthwhile anyway."

"Your parents included?"

"What? No, they were long dead by then. But none of the other adults lasted very long after the Magog started coming either. Too big to fit in the bolt-holes along the coast that us kids used—and the Magog are only about my size now, so bigger tunnels were kind of pointless—and it's not like we had any weapons worth mentioning. So, yeah. We burned the kitchen." He scratched at the dough marks on his jacket again, hoping Tyr would let the subject drop.

* * *

Tyr looked down at him for a moment. Sometimes—most of the time—it was easy to forget the sheer brutality that Harper had lived through. Especially when he was picking at the dough stuck to his jacket and sucking the bits off his fingers and didn't seem to think that anything he'd said was particularly unusual. Tyr would never claim that his life had been easy, but at the same time he'd been fifteen, nearly an adult, when he'd learned just how cruel the universe could truly be. For Harper, he'd never known anything else. "Stop licking your jacket before you give yourself some form of plague, and get some glasses down without turning my kitchen into a climbing gym," Tyr ordered rather than pursuing the subject, knocking him sideways lightly. "There will be actual food shortly."

Harper rolled his eyes but at least washed his hands again before going for the glasses, and he had the sense to use his knees rather than his feet on the counter this time which Tyr would accept. He wasn't actually sure in which empire this ship had originated, but certainly it involved either nonhumans or genetic engineering because even he couldn't easily reach the upper cabinets. By the time the table was set appropriately, the dumplings were in the oven cooking, and Harper bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. "Is it done yet?"

"How much of that vile drink have you consumed since you came onboard?" Tyr had to ask.

Harper grinned. "Just the one can. I kept forgetting to stop by the commissary and pick up another case."

"Small miracles." He looked at the oven. "We've got some time until it's done. Come show me the worst of what's been done to my engines." A pause. "The worst of what they've done. I can see the mess you've made."

"Hilarious." He didn't actually object, though, heading for the engine room ahead of Tyr and scrambling up to sit on one of the half-open consoles. "So where do you want me to start?"

Tyr crossed his arms and found a reasonably clear bit of wall to lean against. "The things most likely to get me killed. Obviously."

Harper rolled his eyes. "Okay, I fixed the AP mixer proto matrix mess, but really, your whole proto matrix could use an overhaul. See…."

The little professor was still going strong ten minutes later, waving his hands at various things presumably to illustrate his points, but Tyr had already lost the thread of what those points were. He was good enough to manage basic engine repairs and could follow along with the theories behind more complicated ones, but Harper had crossed well beyond that line five minutes ago and was still going strong. He wasn't even trying to show off, it was just something that he understood and never mind that the vast majority of the people that he spoke to didn't.

"Stop," Tyr finally ordered.

"But I'm just getting to the interesting part."

Tyr shook his head at Harper's grin. "How long would it take you to just fix it?"

"If by 'it' you mean everything, you're talking several months. Among other things there's some rerouting and recoding that could stand to be done, and once that's ripped open there's always another thing or two hiding behind it. Especially since I don't even know who built this ship." He frowned and looked around. "Everything that might kill you versus just strand you somewhere uncomfortable…call it a week best case. More likely two or three if I have to machine some stuff, unless you're hiding fab facilities somewhere on this thing."

"I'm not." He tilted his head, considering. "Why don't you come with me? My next stop will be the…source…of this virus," and whoever had dared plant such a thing on his ship, "but I have a job on Abraxis starting in fifteen days. I'll trade passage for whatever work you can get done before I leave there." If Harper could take care of the worst offenders, he'd get that list of the rest and find some competent engineers on the stations he passed through to work down it. Somehow. He hated vetting workers.

"Abraxis." Harper bit his lip lightly. "Monarch Sector, right?"

"Yes. It's a drift similar to this one. Perhaps a quarter again larger." He waited a moment. "This place will not be particularly safe for you when you go back to your shop."

"Yeah, no kidding." He sighed. "Any chance there a fewer Nietzscheans on Abraxis? Or, you know, none? Except you, I guess."

"Don't hold your breath, professor."

"I never do." He nodded. "Yeah, I'll do it. Figured it was probably safer to get out of here anyway, and it's not like I'm particularly attached to the place. Any parts I can't build or machine are your cost, though."

"Done." Tyr nodded and turned, his nose telling him what the timer was about to. "Dinner is ready."

Harper hopped off the console and followed him back to the kitchen, and Tyr waited until he was seated and eating before asking the question he'd been wondering about since Harper's offhand comment.

"You said that you aren't particularly attached to this drift. What happened to make you leave Andromeda and come here in the first place?"

Harper stared at him for a minute and then looked back down at this plate. "Seefra."

"I recall that Seefra sucks," Tyr said slowly. "But since I don't know where—or what—Seefra is, I can't say that I find that information particularly enlightening." He'd expected it to have something to do with the war, short as it had been, or the loss of Earth, but clearly that wasn't the case.

Harper shook his head. "Explaining exactly what Seefa is will take an hour, make next to no sense, and still not really answer your question, so let's just say that it's a hellhole system with nine—well, one, now, but at the time it was nine—hellhole planets that I got to spend three years in. On. Whatever. Mostly alone."

That raised more questions than it answered, but Tyr stuck to the obvious. "Where were the others, and why was it such a hellhole?"

"Insert time travel here. All of us got thrown there, but we ended up in different places at different times. I was the furthest back." A frown. "Sideways? Hell if I know anymore." He waved a hand. "Anyway, when I first woke up all I knew was that I was by myself in a dustbowl feeling like I'd gotten ripped into about a billion pieces and reassembled by some jackass with a hammer and a bad schematic."

Tyr's lips twitched despite himself.

"I got lucky for once, or at least I thought I did, and a family found me before things got too bad. I mean, sunburned, dehydrated, half starved, stage further-along-than-I-like heatstroke, all of that, but still breathing. And they were nice enough; patched me up best they could and shared water which was a big thing over there. I thought it was kind of weird that they totally ignored the burns around my dataport, but I don't much like people messing with that anyway so it wasn't really a big deal."

"I still don't see the hellhole," Tyr said when he went quiet.

"It's coming. They were all out most days, it was a working farm with the parents and two boys, but even if I was still too weak to be of much use I figured I could at least help out around the house. They had this old vidscreen that was in bad shape hung on the wall, the casing was cracked pretty badly and it didn't even turn on, so I went ahead and fixed it for them one day." His fingers curled against the tabletop. "And they stopped being nice."

"What?"

"Turns out Seefra is—was, whatever—a whole system full of technophobes. I mean, it could have been worse. Seefra-5 was run by some serious whackjobs who'd probably have made some kind of public spectacle of my execution. These guys were just close followers of the whackjobs who kept the broken vidscreen hanging on the wall as a symbol of, and I quote, 'the great hoax perpetuated by technology.' I really, _really_ don't like getting hit."


	5. Recent History

_Thanks to everyone who read. As always reviews are appreciated._

* * *

"When they finally threw me out I was in rough shape again," Harper continued, refusing to dwell on what had happened with the Chorrams. He'd liked them, damn it, and then they'd gone and turned out to be lunatics, but in the end it had only been the first in a long line of disappointments on Seefra. "I'd figured out the lay of the place by that point, though, and it wasn't too tricky to sneak onto a transport down into the city. Cities are easier." He'd proved that back in Boston once upon a time, and there had been more Ubers to dodge in that case.

"Easier for what?" Tyr asked. "I can't imagine that you opened a repair shop."

"Disappearing. And I'm reasonably good at avoiding obvious stupidity, thanks."

"Empirical evidence would suggest otherwise." He gestured towards Harper's face, smirking.

Harper rolled his eyes. "Like I said, you're hilarious. I stayed in the shadows and picked pockets until most of the bruises healed and then got a job in a bar. Drink orders are easy enough to remember, and most drunks get to talking eventually so I figured I'd hear where the others ended up soon enough."

"Talking or fighting," Tyr pointed out, serving himself another dumpling and gesturing towards Harper's plate.

"Please. And or fighting," Harper acknowledged, splitting the new dumpling open. One advantage to working on Tyr's ship for the next couple weeks; he was going to eat really well. "There were a lot of bar fights, no argument there, but until I ended up running the bar, I wasn't much of a target. I mean, seriously, if you were drunk and looking for a fight, would you look at me twice?"

"I don't get drunk, but were I such a fool I'd be more likely to trip over you."

"Hysterical. Really, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Tyr's lips twitched.

"Exactly my point, though," Harper continued. "No one paid me any attention me unless I gave them a reason. About the only thing that did that was if I forgot to hide my 'port." Or when he'd enforced the one-drink max on water, but at least by the time he'd been running the place he'd had some backup. Most of the time. "Anyway, a variety of mostly bad shit happened," including the part where he'd ended up running the place, "three freaking _years_ pass, and then suddenly I've got Dylan and Rhade shooting at me. Well, technically shooting at Doyle, but…." He shrugged.

"Doyle?"

Oh. Right. He fiddled with his fork. "So I did find Rommie. Not too long in, actually. But she wasn't…she got hurt bad when the Magog came. Back in normal space, I mean. If I'd been on Andromeda—or really anywhere with a decent tech base—I might have been able to do something, but as it was I couldn't even get her to talk to me." He shook himself. He wasn't going to dwell on that either. "The best I could manage was scrounging enough to build Doyle from what was left."

Tyr raised an eyebrow. "Another android? That fixation will be the death of you someday, boy. I'm surprised that it hasn't been already given that you just said that you were in a technophobe system."

He was tempted—not for the first time where Tyr was concerned—to point out that he wasn't a child, but since he was in the process of admitting one of the stupider things he'd done in the past few years, it wasn't exactly a great illustration. "I didn't tell anyone that she was an android. Her included."

"I refer back to my previous comment on empirical evidence," Tyr said after a moment.

Harper scowled, but as he was well aware in this particular instance it was true enough. And at least the smirk had disappeared.

"She figured it out, I assume?" Tyr asked.

"Yeah. Wasn't real happy with me, but by then we had other issues. It turned out that Rhade had been there about six months by then—don't ask me what he was doing; he didn't volunteer and I didn't ask—but Dylan had basically just showed up. With Andromeda, beat up as she was, because Rev's Divine forbid that he ever be inconvenienced."

That got a chuckle, but it had been far less amusing from Harper's perspective. Or maybe he'd already just been sick and tired of the universe by then. With everything that had happened with Marika, it wasn't much of a stretch. Another shake. Yet another place that he wasn't going. "So Dylan starts one of his crusades, admittedly a more useful one this time since I wanted out of that hellhole too, and all of a sudden it turns out that Beka's been around for nine freaking months. She wasn't…she was different, though. At least by the time I saw her again. Meaner." He still didn't understand what had happened to Beka. Yeah, being on your own sucked, but he couldn't imagine just shutting people out like she had. He'd have done anything that she asked him to, even after three years, and she hadn't cared.

"You and Captain Valentine were always close," Tyr said.

"Not on Seefra. Not after Seefra." He shook his head and pushed his plate away despite the fact that there was still a good portion of a dumpling left. Despite how long he'd been stranded he'd still wanted his friends, but she'd never let him back in no matter how he'd tried.

"And the previously purple one?" Tyr asked as the silence began to stretch out.

"Oh. Yeah. That…you don't want that headache. I don't even want that headache and I was there at the time. She's as alive as she ever was and changed yet again; call her Trance 3.0 and move along. Eventually a sun collapsed and the planets condensed and we got out of Seefra and hey, here's another attack coming. Left in a wave of Magog, back in a wave of Ubers, why not mash all my personal hells together?" He shrugged and didn't wait for an answer. Tyr wouldn't have one any more than he did. Although he should probably work on curbing his use of the U-word while he was around Tyr, now that he thought about it, because the guy didn't exactly have unlimited patience. "I don't know. The Route of Ages and Seefra and exploding suns and exploding Trances—which is kind of the same thing as it turns out—and I was just sick of it. I wanted to go home, and after everything that sure as hell wasn't Andromeda anymore, but then there was no Earth either so screw that plan. I finally gave up and took off. It's not like the drifts are any better, but at least they don't pretend to be."

"I would have thought you'd have picked another planet," Tyr said after a minute. "Perhaps that water resort that you enjoy so much."

"I probably should have," Harper admitted after a minute. "I don't know why I didn't at least take a vacation first." He hadn't surfed since before Seefra, not even on a hoverboard, and he missed it. Hell, he missed his hoverboard. For some reason he just hadn't had the energy to build a new one since his had been smashed back on Andromeda during the attack. The first one. "But here I am." He met Tyr's eyes. "And here you are. Why weren't you leading the Nietzschean fleet?"

* * *

It was a fair question and Tyr knew it, especially since Harper had answered his. More or less honestly, too, it seemed, although he was sure that a great deal had been left out. He nodded slightly. He would be editing as well, but he would answer. Although…he wasn't used to hearing that level of exhaustion in the little professor's voice, though. It wasn't the exhaustion of overwork, he'd seen that before on Andromeda and it had generally resulted in Harper curling up in whatever small, dark place was closest and then coming back with even more energy a few hours later, in this case he just seemed tired.

He reached out and nudged the little professor's plate back towards him. "You know that I had plans when I left the Andromeda."

Harper rolled his eyes. "When _don't_ you have plans?"

"Do you want to hear or don't you?"

Harper gestured for him to go ahead. And picked up his fork again, which was good to see. Tyr hadn't thought much about it before, but he'd also lost some weight since they'd last seen each other, and he didn't have a great deal to spare.

"I know that your experiences with Nietzscheans have been…bad," Tyr said slowly, trying to figure out how best to start. Humans didn't necessarily see things the way that his kind did.

Harper shot him a sardonic look but didn't say anything.

"That isn't the way they—we—are supposed to be. Petty tyrants wrapped in senseless squabbles." He shook his head. "We were supposed to be—"

"Save the speech, Tyr," Harper interrupted. "I've read the books. Hell, I've _met_ Drago Museveni. The guy's an asshole, by the way. Was an asshole. Whatever."

"Excuse me?"

"Seefra. Sucked."

"You've clearly suffered a head injury." There was no other explanation.

"I wish. He figured out the Route of Ages for whatever insane reason that he had—probably some great master plan, you're more into those than I am—and showed up. Got the shit beat out of him by Rhade, got the shit beat out of him by Dylan…hell, he was Beka's boyfriend for a while, so that ought to tell you something."

Tyr had no idea how to process what Harper was saying. "You're serious." It wasn't a question, but he had no idea what else he could possibly say. "You've met Drago Museveni."

"Unfortunately." He shook his head. "Look, it's complicated. Most everything about Seefra is complicated when it comes right down to it. Well, except for the sucking part. And where he's concerned the asshole part. My point was that I know all about the whole creating a master race scheme, and I hate to be the one to break to you, but it didn't work. Nietzscheans suck too." A pause. "Present company excluded." A longer pause. "Usually."

Tyr's lips twitched. He still wasn't sure how to deal with what Harper had just told him, but as usual the little professor managed to interject humor exactly where there should be none. "Fine, then. His plan failed. The first time around. But it is still a worthy goal." Harper's skepticism was clear on his face, and it was Tyr's turn to shake his head. "I have no use for slavers and you know it. Nor the cowards and bullies who spend their lives preying on those weaker than themselves. We were meant to be better. We were _made_ to be better."

"You know, delusions of grandeur are a common sign of psychosis."

Tyr growled, and Harper scooted his chair back quickly.

"Just saying!"

"If you were not necessary for the removal of this virus from my ship, little man…."

Harper grinned, previous melancholy melting away. "Good thing I'm indispensable, then."

"Be quiet and finish your dinner before I forget that fact," Tyr ordered, feeling a flicker of amusement despite himself. Despite the story that he was relating. "As I was saying, we were made to be better, and I thought they could be. And I was able to convince the Prides to follow me. At first."

"Because of that crap you pulled with Andromeda or something else?"

Tyr met his glare evenly. He had hidden his son thus far and intended to continue to do so, and in this instance Harper's automatic distrust of all things Nietzschean would serve him because he doubted that Harper actually _cared_ why the Prides had followed him. "It was not so difficult as you might think. Despite Dylan's deep-seated beliefs," not to say blind faith, "the Commonwealth is not a Nietzschean ideal."

"Well, obviously. That would require acknowledging that other people are, you know, people."

Tyr wanted to disagree, but in the end, Harper's words were more accurate than Tyr was comfortable with. The behavior of the Drago-Kazov and the other Prides who had followed their lead after the fall had done their kind no favors. "Regardless, after the initial alliance, factions developed more quickly than I expected. Between their absurd squabbles, their ridiculous, irrelevant politics…." He shook his head, feeling his lip curling in disgust as he remembered those nigh-unending 'discussions.' "I began with the support of Bolivar and the Sabra-Jaguar, reinforced by the destruction of Enga's Redoubt, but soon enough Bolivar found reason to put himself forward to lead." Tyr had expected that to happen at some point, Bolivar was Nietzschean to the core and one didn't become an Alpha by sitting back and allowing others to determine his path, but he'd thought to have his own power base better supported by then. He might have if the others hadn't been so focused on their insignificant, inconsequential concerns. Or if he'd had a Pride of his own to back him. "Perhaps Bolivar might have been a viable choice," as much as he hated saying it, "but in the end he too was forced back."

"Dragans," Harper spit.

"Precisely." Tyr heard the same venom echoing from his voice as he'd heard in Harper's. "One world destroyed, even their homeworld, meant little to a Pride of that size. And the loss of their Alpha and his closest supporters merely left a power vacuum that far too many were eager to fill." He scoffed. "And still, in the end, the new Drago-Kazov Alpha was no leader at all. All of the possibilities in the universe and he made himself into nothing more than a tool of the Abyss. _Fool_."

"So that's why it was an U—a Nietzschean—fleet on top of a Magog fleet," Harper said quietly. "Figures." He tilted his head. "So, what, they just kicked you out? Last I looked slitting throats and blowing up ships was the way to get ahead where Nietzscheans were concerned, and I can't imagine whatever these 'reasons' they originally had to follow you just up and disappeared."

Harper was far too intelligent for his own good, sometimes. And he did know Nietzscheans. "Under normal circumstances you would be correct," Tyr acknowledged, "but there were certain other considerations in this case." DNA, genetics, the most important things to even the most inferior Nietzschean, and in his case DNA that made him valuable enough to risk keeping as a prisoner. It was why he never intended to allow any of them to lay hands on his son. "Enough so to make me a useful figurehead, among other things."

That statement was enough to replace the calculating stare on Harper's face with shock. "Figurehead? Like, figurehead, seriously? _You_? How did _you_ not slit their throats?"

Tyr smiled. At least one person in the universe knew him well enough to recognize the level of sheer stupidity in their actions. "I dispatched perhaps half a dozen of my erstwhile 'honor guard' as I was leaving. There are others that I will deal with when the opportunity arises."

"Well, that sounds about right, at least." Harper's eyes dropped to the counter between them. "So you weren't there at the end."

"Just as well, I suppose, given how it went." A defeat that left the Nietzscheans scattered nearly as badly as they'd been after the fall of the Commonwealth, and there was little comfort to be had in the fact that the Drago-Kazov had taken the worst of it. It was Tyr's turn to focus on the counter between them for a moment and then he shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. "If you're done with that, give me your plate. You might as well get started on whatever other horrific things you're planning for my engine room."


	6. Work to Do

_Thanks to everyone who read. As always, reviews are appreciated._

* * *

Harper snarled and fought the steel grip on his wrists. He couldn't match the strength that held them to the deck beneath him, but it was by no means the first time in his life that he'd found himself trapped, and he kicked at his attacker even as he curled his upper body inwards to—

"Enough!" Something rapped his forehead. "No biting!"

Harper blinked as the voice penetrated his sleep-fogged mind. "Tyr?"

"Your habit of crawling into the nearest available hole to sleep is not conducive to health or long life, little man. And I'm attached to those fingers. _Humans_."

The last was added in an exasperated huff and Harper glared as the hand wrapped around his wrists released, but he couldn't deny that pinning his arms had been a smart move on Tyr's part. Aside from the pistol beside him, Harper slept with a knife under his pillow—or arm, in this case—and a nanowelder and shriller somewhere to hand. "Was tired," he retorted, tucking the knife away and rubbing the stinging spot on his forehead. He pushed himself to a sitting position inside the gutted console he'd curled up in. "Besides, you're the one that put them within reach."

Tyr shook his head. "There are perfectly good quarters available. Come out."

Despite the brusque order, one hand shielded Harper's head from the edge of the console as he scrambled out from under it, and Harper nudged him lightly. "Sorry. I probably kicked you, too, didn't I?

"You tried."

He looked amused, which, given how Nietzscheans viewed threats, probably meant that Harper hadn't come within a light year of succeeding. Still. "Didn't mean to. Just a habit." On the Maru and then the Andromeda he'd managed to squash the reflex most of the time, but in his time on Seefra it had returned with a vengeance. After he'd gone back to Andromeda he'd tried to calm it again, but no one had spent enough time around him for it to really matter—even Doyle and Rommie had treated him more like an annoyance than anything—and on the drifts…well, there it wasn't such a bad reaction to have.

Tyr waved a hand, dismissing the matter. "You would have to be either considerably larger or with considerably better leverage to pose any kind of hazard. Come."

Harper couldn't help making a face at his back as he followed Tyr into the corridor, but it wasn't like he'd actually wanted to find out that he'd hurt the big guy. "I think I left my bag in medical."

"You did. Do you want to check your injuries again?"

"Probably wouldn't be a bad idea," he admitted. Tyr had been right about the medication he had being less than human appropriate—Nietzscheans could handle concentrations that a human would find well beyond the toxic threshold, and Tyr's supplies reflected that—but Harper had had enough of his own with him that it didn't matter. Especially since the regen unit had worked just fine. He probably should have listened to Tyr's suggestion that he visit medical before starting work, but it wasn't like he'd never taken hits before. If nothing was actively hemorrhaging he didn't tend to pay as much attention as he probably should.

Tyr followed him, and when Harper boosted himself onto the table and shrugged off his shirt he was relieved to note that the majority of bruising had healed to the point that his scars were hidden again. Not that he was ashamed of them—the ones that were from work didn't matter, and he'd done his best to trade scar for scar where the Dragans were concerned and never mind that Nietzscheans scarred far less easily than humans—but those in the second category still weren't something that he liked talking about. Especially with someone who had blades on his arms, even if Tyr was good about keeping his down and away from Harper most of the time.

The cuts across his arms and shoulders were half-healed as well, and he twisted and took the regen unit Tyr handed him with a nod of thanks. They didn't feel bad, but might as well get them healed up by morning.

"You're ready to remove the virus?" Tyr asked as he worked, leaning back against the second table.

"Yep, everything's good to go. You'll be around, right?"

"That is my plan. Why?"

"A second set of hands would be good to have, just in case. I don't expect to need them, but for this kind of thing it's not a bad idea." He shrugged. It was never a great feeling to see the wire you needed to yank right in front of you but be just a fraction short of actually reaching it. He lowered the regen unit and rolled his shoulders. That'd do. It only took a minute to put the regen unit back up, and then he hopped down off the bunk. "Do you actually have a job here?" he asked curiously. He kind of assumed not given that Tyr was planning to head back to whatever station the bug had been planted on before continuing to Abraxis, but he wasn't really the kind of guy to sit around idle, either.

"I finished a transport job when I arrived," Tyr said as they headed back into the hall. "Given that I've got another job already lined up, it wasn't—isn't—critical to find anything for the interim. Normally I would look for a job taking me in the general direction of Abraxis in the interests of efficiency, but under the circumstances…." He waved a hand. "I will be here tomorrow." He palmed open a door open and gestured inside. "These quarters are yours until we reach Abraxis. If you wish to sleep under the bunk, that is your decision. If I lose fingers having to haul you out you'll regret it."

The last was added in a growl, and Harper rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm shaking. But, thanks."

Tyr nodded and turned back to a door slightly further along, presumably his quarters. Good to know where they were, even if Harper wasn't planning to be bothering him in the middle of what passed for night.

When Harper took a look around, he found nothing to complain about in his temporary quarters. They weren't big, but he hadn't expected that on a ship of this size. And they were still bigger than his quarters had been on the drift, although that was probably because he'd been using the storage closet leading to the washroom as quarters rather than bothering to rent separate ones. Plus he was pretty sure that the extra blankets dumped on the foot of the bed were recent additions.

* * *

"Not the blue one, the _blue_ one," Harper ordered, waving a hand in Tyr's general direction.

"Boy…." Harper didn't even seem to hear him, his focus on the panel in front of him, and Tyr temporarily gave up on threats and pulled the second blue wire. Harper may have called the collection of wires running into the console that _he_ was working behind efficient, but the nest in front of Tyr most definitely was not. And Tyr still wasn't entirely sure what Harper had him doing.

The day had started out well enough. Harper rose nearly as early as he did, and by the time Tyr had completed his morning workout Harper had finished whatever he'd needed to do in medical and was poking around the supplies in the kitchen. He'd been happy enough to give up his quest for whatever and chop asi-peppers for omelets when Tyr had told him too, though—just as well, the universe only knew what completely inappropriate disease-carrying device he'd pull out of a pocket and start trying to use to cook with if left to his own devices—and then he'd been ready to start on the virus.

It hadn't looked like much to start with, Harper jacked in and slumped against a console, showing no movement except twitching eyeballs. Still strange, in Tyr's eyes, although he'd kept an eye on him in that state more than once on Andromeda. Then his eyes had snapped open, and with a grin in Tyr's direction and a 'here we go' he'd pulled himself back to his feet and started tapping on the console.

Then though, his head had jerked up and he'd started calling things to Tyr and life had become considerably more interesting. "Red one, red one!" Harper yelled, yanking Tyr back to the present.

"There are three red ones," Tyr snapped, even as he reached for the nearest.

"Uh…the one in the middle!"

"I am going to beat you so hard that your ancestors bleed," Tyr informed him as he removed the correct wire. When Harper had said that it might be useful to have him around, it had sounded very much like a remote possibility, but now he was dealing with a mass of wires none of which had any sort of useful labels on them, and whatever he was doing was clearly not makework.

Harper made what Tyr assumed was supposed to be a rude gesture in his general direction—it wasn't as if he kept up to date on the meaning of random human hand signs, especially when the human in question had a fistful of wires that made the whole thing look like nothing more than a roll of his wrist anyway—and he made a mental note to carry out that threat when next convenient. He'd forgotten how annoying the little man could be when he was in the mood.

"Damn, damn, other blue too," Harper said, hands back on his console suddenly. "And, uh…." He scanned the mess in front of Tyr quickly. "Uh, the green. The one on your upper left. Yeah, that one, quickly."

Tyr did as he said, and a moment and a few taps later and Harper blew out a slow breath.

"All right, that's got it. As of now you are virus-free, with the exception of this console which will happily send whatever jump coordinates you want off to whatever dead-drop their using. And keep pinging that you are happily oblivious right along with it. I wouldn't count on it lasting more than a week or so unless I go in and tweak more of the programming, but for the next couple days you're solid."

"What was all that about?" Tyr asked, indicating the wires he'd been pulling.

"They were smart. Smarter than I thought." He made a face. "Of all the life support systems to tap I couldn't figure out why they'd be looking at carbon filtration, but there are some markers there that work out differently in slipstream than in normal space. I didn't realize what the equations were until I was in the middle of them. I might have been able to deal with them in software later, but I'm not sure I'd care to bet on that. It's not a bad way to crosscheck that kind of virus, actually." He gave the console a considering look. "I'll have to keep it in mind."

"Provided you don't plan to use my ship as a test vector, I have no objection," Tyr said, stepping over to take a closer look at the console that Harper indicated could control the remains of the virus. The interface seemed clear enough. "When was the virus inserted?"

"Three weeks, two days, and about sixteen hours ago. I can pull it up to the second it went active if you really want."

"That's accurate enough. Madras, Corteo sector." Tyr curled his lip. It had a poor reputation, even among the other stations in that sector, but he had dropped off a local fool with more money than sense and his son with no incident, and no one had been fool enough to molest him or his ship before he'd left a day later. Or so he'd thought.

"Ew," Harper said. "Why did you go there?"

"The pay was good, and I was in the region." He considered for a moment. Four jumps to get there, perfectly doable for a competent pilot, but it was a situation likely to leave him at marginally less than his best upon arrival. On the other hand, there were now two competent pilots on this ship, and he doubted that Harper would want to go wandering on Madras. It wasn't a Nietzschean colony, but the Corteo sector was—or at least had been—contested space between Sabra-Jaguar and the smaller Komodo Pride, and that showed in the not-quite warships that passed time on the various stations.

"What?" Harper asked, looking up at him.

"When was the last time you piloted slipstream?"

"Before I left Andromeda. Why? You want me to pilot?"

"It would be faster if we split it. I don't, however, want to find myself three centuries in the past."

"Hey, that was the purple princess," Harper said, holding up his hands. "I've got more reason to hate time travel than just about anyone, remember? And sure, I'm good to take part of it. I mean, I'd say it's like riding a bicycle, except that I haven't done that since I was like eight so I don't know if I can still ride a bicycle, but I'm sure that I can still pilot slipstream so maybe piloting slipstream is like riding a bicycle is supposed to be."

"Did that make any sense before you started speaking?" Tyr had to ask.

Harper opened his mouth and then shut it again, which Tyr decided was answer enough.

"Secure anything that you need to in your quarters and meet me on command."

"Uh, sure, but you're going to have to tell me where command is," Harper pointed out. "I haven't exactly gotten a tour, you know."

"Ah." He should have realized that, but he'd had other things on his mind. "I will remedy that later. For now, continue past quarters and the kitchen and follow around the cargo bay."

"Okay." Harper nodded at the console. "So do you want to let them know you're coming, or have them think that you're still here, or convince them that you're headed for Mars, or what?"

"Mars?"

Harper shook his head. "Just another dead planet in a dead solar system. What'll it be?"

"Pick a reasonably-sized commerce planet in the opposite direction from Madras and let them think we're going there. I prefer the element of surprise."


	7. Madras

_Thanks to everyone who read and WhiteWolfWoman for reviewing. As always, reviews are appreciated._

* * *

A loud bang below him drew his attention, and Harper stuck his head down through the hatch. "Hey, big guy, how did traumatizing the locals go?" Personally Harper had no intention of getting off the ship at any point during this particular stop—one pack of Ubers was already one too many, thanks, never mind two of them at odds—but Tyr had disappeared in search of some poor bastard as soon as they'd docked and had been gone most of the afternoon.

There was no sign of anyone below him, though, and Harper frowned. "Tyr?" Tyr moved way too quietly for a guy his size most of the time; if he'd made that much noise it was because he'd meant to. Harper had assumed that it was just a heads-up that he was back, but—

Harper jerked himself back up into the low bay as an Uber—Nietzschean—who was definitely _not_ Tyr stepped into the cargo bay below him, a second visible just behind his shoulder. The first's lips curled into an ugly grin, and he raised his weapon.

"Not good." That was emphasized by the sound of an energy weapon discharging, the blast striking some old crate just past Harper's shoulder, and Harper kicked the hatch shut and flipped the lock, scrambling backwards. He'd gotten most of engineering cleaned up, at least well enough to meet his standards since he was going to have to rip a bunch of it back open to fix things correctly anyway, and had decided to take a break and do a little snooping while Tyr was otherwise occupied. Well, that and finish off the last of the dumplings. They'd been tasty. But not being suicidal, his snooping had mostly involved looking for interesting bits and pieces among the clutter up here, not poking his nose inside every access hatch he could find or searching for weapons or that sort of thing.

He wasn't sure how to contact Tyr, either. Tyr would have taken some kind of communicator with him, and if Harper had time to play around in the ship's systems he'd be able to figure out how to access it easily enough, but he was now on a ship with some number of hostile Nietzscheans and potentially trapped in a cargo hold on top of that. He could already see that time was one of those luxuries that he wasn't going to have. And that assumed—

He cut that train of thought off as a blast impacted the hatch. Worry about himself now, then worry about Tyr. By the time he got to the point where he could do that safely, it probably wouldn't be an issue anyway. Tyr wasn't likely to tolerate the invasion of his ship for more than half a second, and Harper seriously pitied anyone who attacked him outright. Or attempted to take him prisoner. Figurehead. Sheesh.

Harper picked up his backwards pace. Assuming Tyr was right and this bay had been used for smuggling, and given its placement and layout that was no stretch, there weren't likely to be too many entrances. He doubted they'd have limited it to one either, though, not given the kinds of things that could go wrong in space, and Harper had no intention of being here when the Ubers broke through. He didn't particularly want to escape onto the station, though, not without some idea where Tyr had gone since that was just as likely to lead him into trouble elsewhere, which meant finding someplace a little more secure onboard.

He found another hatch leading back down into the ship at about the same time a screech of metal indicated that the Ubers were one good hit short of coming through, and he kicked the dusty latch a few times until it gave way and then let himself drop into the dark space below, snagging the ladder as he fell. He reached up quickly and it only took one good tug to close the hatch again, hopefully giving him a little longer until the Ubers found it and where he'd gone.

Wherever it was that he'd gone. It was pitch black in here, and he climbed down slowly, finding the deck below him with his feet.

He still hadn't gotten the full tour from Tyr, but with the hatch above him closed he felt reasonably confident in flipping on his pocket light and taking a look around. The room, small as it was, was empty, but there was another hatch in the floor and with a mental comparison of the height of the cargo bay versus how far he'd climbed, there was no way that he was more than halfway to the main level.

There was no access panel into the ship's systems from in here, and none of the wall panels that he could see were easily removable. He had a small torch on him and could cut into the walls if he needed to, but without knowing how the main computer was routed he was just as likely to find a sewage conduit as something useful. And he'd prefer to put a little more distance between himself and the Ubers anyway. Nietzscheans. Whatever; he'd worry about being polite later. Right now, if they found the hatch he'd escaped through, there was nothing for him to hide behind.

He pressed his ear to the hatch at his feet and heard nothing, but he was well aware that his senses couldn't compete with an Uber's, and he pulled his shriller out of his pocket and slipped it between his lips, biting down to hold it in place. It would give him away as soon as he used it, but it wasn't like they didn't know he was onboard, and he couldn't afford to let them—whoever they actually were besides Ubers—get their hands on him. With his blaster he could probably take one of them before they were on him, with the shriller….

His teeth bared a little further. A shriller wouldn't take an Uber down permanently, but it would hurt them bad enough to give him a fighting chance, even against several. At least temporarily. If he could get into the ship's lighting systems he could do worse.

Harper held his breath, concentrating as hard as he could, and still heard no sound from below him. He eased the hatch open slowly, shining his light downwards, only to find another empty room. Well, mostly empty. He dropped through again, pulling this hatch closed behind him as well, and scrambled down. A quick check of the crates didn't reveal much of use, mostly nonperishable food items and it wasn't like he could throw a box of food cubes hard enough to do any damage, but that probably meant that he was back on the main level. He couldn't imagine that Tyr had bothered to drag these supplies too far from the galley.

Shriller still clenched in his teeth he repeated his check at the door hatch and once again heard nothing on the other side. He shut off his light and returned it to his pocket before easing it open, a little more carefully this time, and was rewarded by light spilling in from the passageway outside. The empty passageway outside, and he stepped out and closed it behind him again. Who knew if he'd need to escape back up into the cargo bay at some point. He was pretty sure the galley was around the corner, and for a moment he was tempted to go borrow a few of Tyr's cooking knives since all he had besides a pocketknife was the one in his boot, but he hadn't thrown many knives since leaving Earth. Not even on Seefra. And if a throw wasn't immediately fatal…well, experience had taught him that giving knives to Ubers never ended well.

Command probably wasn't the wisest place to go either, though, since if the Ubers wanted the ship it was the first place they'd head. Engineering was a possibility since from there he could do just about anything, but that was another likely Uber destination, and it wasn't well laid out for one defender. Especially one with only one blaster.

The obvious occurred to him, and he began to move opposite the galley. He had no idea where the weapons' locker was—or, more likely, weapons' lockers were given who the ship belonged to—but there was no way that Tyr didn't keep at least a few guns in his quarters. And knowing him he'd have a direct computer link to Command too.

Tyr's quarters weren't marked with anything in particular, which was both just as well and not really a surprise when Harper thought about it, and he overrode the persona lock and let himself in quickly. Tyr could threaten to beat him later for it.

* * *

The communicator on Tyr's belt chirped, and he started in surprise at the code that flashed. Harper was a lot of things, but a fool wasn't one of them. Tyr had never even considered that the little man might break into his quarters while he was out.

His frowned deepened and he checked his surroundings. Harper wasn't a fool. Tyr hadn't felt any searching eyes on him during his walk around the station—his less-than-fruitful walk, thus far, which had made him somewhat irritated—but if whoever had planted that bug on his ship was still here, someone who knew that his ship was supposed to be elsewhere but had seen it dock, they may have attempted to implement some kind of contingency plan.

He should have gotten an alert the instant that someone had tried to force an outer hatch, but an intruder may have taken precautions there that they didn't find necessary once inside the ship. He checked his guns, his teeth baring slightly and ignoring the reaction from the stall keeper nearest him. If they had, they would find that they were greatly mistaken.

For a brief moment he debated using his communicator, but it would only open a general channel with the ship. He could still do it, pretend it was some commonplace communication, but if someone had invaded his ship and didn't yet know that Harper existed, it would give him away. And if Harper did manage to respond…the little man was not discreet. He would undoubtedly try to give Tyr a warning that he neither needed nor wanted.

Tyr should have spoken to Harper before he left, set up a more secure communication line, but it hadn't even occurred to him that he might need it. Maybe it should have, but he'd been on his own for the last three years and the habits he'd learned as a mercenary in the years before Andromeda had come back with a vengeance.

He moved quickly back towards his ship but kept a wary eye out as he did so. Any sensible intruder would have set a watch, and the last thing Tyr wanted was to let them know that he was coming. Of course, it was possible that there was no intruder and Harper had changed more than he'd thought since they'd last seen each other, but it wasn't an assumption that Tyr cared to make.

Still, it was almost a relief when Tyr spotted the first likely candidate at the entrance to the docking bay he'd been assigned, the man's posture far too casual to be anything but the opposite. Nietzschean, but unlike most he wore nothing to indicate pride affiliation. Tyr let himself fade into the shadows as he looked around. There was a second entrance to the bay, but it was likely covered as well, and even if he could find an accessible airlock Tyr had no inclination to try a spacewalk and come in from that way.

The fact that it was a Nietzschean waiting for him wasn't precisely surprising, but it was marginally concerning. Not that he had any particular worry about facing some number of his own kind if it turned out that that was who had invaded his ship rather than one being hired as a lookout, but Harper trapped alone on a ship with any number of Nietzscheans was not a good situation.

He looked at his communicator again and then shook his head. Harper was a survivor several times over. Most likely he'd either escaped the ship entirely or gone to ground somewhere that no one would ever find him.

Or they'd caught him elbow-deep in whatever bit of circuitry had captured his interest, completely oblivious to what was happening around him.

Tyr shook himself. The Nietzschean watching those who approached the docking bay had been intelligent enough to position himself so that Tyr had no way to slip around behind him, but he'd clearly been at his post for long enough that his attention had started to wander—fool—and Tyr got closer than he should have before the man noticed him. When he did his first instinct was to go for his weapon rather than calling for help, and Tyr was on him before it even cleared the holster.

Tyr made no attempt to be subtle; he drove them both back into the bay before whoever was watching at the other entrance could catch sight of him. It wasn't as if brawling Nietzscheans were a particularly usual sight on this station. The man turned out to be as useless in a fight as he was on watch, and Tyr stuffed his remains behind a convenient stack of discarded parts and then hurried towards his ship. He wasn't going in the main hatch, obviously, but there were other options, and he swung up to the inspection entrance of the cargo bay. The one conveniently facing the far wall, away from any prying eyes.

Something flashed on his belt as he did so, and it took him a few minutes to decode the series of lights into 'If the Ubers onboard are friends of yours, you've got crappy taste.' He ignored the brief flicker of relief, made a mental note to smack Harper for the slur and then a second to make sure that it wasn't too hard under the circumstances, and then waited. Sure enough, lights began to blink again. '6. 1 engineer, 2 at hatches with guns, 1—'

The lights stopped, and when a full minute passed without them resuming Tyr frowned. This was not a good turn of events. Harper hadn't used verbal communication, which was a good indication that he should refrain as well, but it didn't give much in the way of tactical information. Another minute with nothing from Harper and he decided that he number of intruders was useful enough as a starting point. Although it would have been nice if Harper had bothered to mention _which_ hatches they were at with guns. He drew his gun and entered the code for the inspection hatch.

It opened just above a narrow walkway that ran around the back half of the bay, and Tyr fought down a grunt of pain as flashing from the overhead panels inside his ship drove a spike of pain into his brain. Somehow—Harper's fault, no doubt—they were flashing at just the _wrong_ frequency, leaving his head pounding as his eyes struggled to adjust. He fumbled for the protective glasses that he carried, relieved when they dulled the lights enough to allow him to focus again, but there was still an unpleasant ache immediately behind his eyes.

He dropped down onto the ledge carefully in the flickering light, shutting the hatch behind him quickly. There was a railing, but it was only a thin metal bar and he didn't care to test its sturdiness. He could just make out a guard at the person-sized hatch that exited into the docking bay, and he shifted his gun onto his shoulder and swung down to the floor, landing as silently as he could manage. The man didn't twitch, and Tyr leveled his gun and made him pay for his inattentiveness.

It was hard to say in the lighting, but this one didn't seem to be wearing anything to indicate Pride affiliation either. Tyr positioned himself at the interior hatch, listening carefully for footsteps, and then let himself into his ship proper. He was debating between engineering and Command as the echo of a footstep alerted him to his next opponent incoming, and he pressed himself to the wall and waited. He needed have bothered with such careful preparation, this one had not only glasses on but also something wrapped around his ears, and Tyr shot him before he could even bring his gun down off his shoulder.

The man had come from the direction of Command so Tyr decided to try engineering first, but when he reached it he found no sign of Harper. Just an extremely irritated Nietzchean male cursing kludges and banging on a half-open panel, and while Tyr could appreciate the sentiment given how the lights were continuing to flash in that horrible pattern and his headache wasn't getting any better, he appreciated invaders on his ship even less. He shot the man in the back.

There was still no indication that any alerts had been raised as he moved quickly down the hall towards Command, but he smelled blood when he passed his quarters and waved the door open quickly. A Nietzschean lay dead on the floor with his head and one arm under the bed, and when Tyr grabbed a boot and pulled him out he found a knife stabbed through the man's outstretched hand and most of his face blasted away.

A glance under the bed told him what had probably happened: Harper had hidden there and opened the wall panel below Tyr's command panel to hack into the ship's systems—not a bad idea, but nowhere near enough to save him from a Nietzschean's senses if he decided to search the room—the Nietzschean had reached under to grab him, and Harper had come out fighting. As best he could, anyway.

If the burns on the wall were any indication he'd gotten off a few more shots after that, but whether he'd gotten away there was no way to say. Considering the blood on the wall opposite the bed and the broken remains of one of Harper's demonic little whistles not far away, Tyr doubted it. That might explain why the one he'd killed coming into the bay had had his ears covered, though.

Tyr left the body where it lay and stepped back into the hall, continuing towards Command. He could hear shouting as he approached, a repeated order to fix the lights, and then there was the sound of a discharging weapon and Harper screamed in pain.

Without thinking Tyr leveled his gun and slammed a hand against the opening panel, but as it slid aside he found not the two Nietzscheans he'd expected from Harper's count but three starting to swivel towards him. His first shot took the one who'd been screaming at Harper, the second the other nearest the door but the muzzle of the third's gun was already trained on him and—

A string of absolutely _filthy_ suggestions—filthy to the point that Tyr, who as a Nietzschean had absolutely no delusions about an afterlife, could almost see his mother rising from her lack-of-grave to wash his mouth out with soap for even thinking them—came from a shaking voice in the far corner in flawless High Nietzshe. For an instant Tyr's opponent started to jerk back in Harper's direction, and that was more than enough time for Tyr to take him down.


	8. Aftermath

_Thanks to everyone who read and to FDWurth for reviewing._

* * *

Confusion, pain, and unconsciousness warred in Harper's mind. Engines roared, his dislocated shoulder slammed against metal, and black and stars flashed in front of his eyes. The world shivered again and he was flipped sideways with his weight coming down on the leg that had been shot. When the world finally blackened, all he felt was a fleeting wave of relief.

Of course, the next thing that he was aware of was a spike of white-hot pain through his shoulder, and he struggled automatically. To no avail. Whatever was pinning him in place wasn't hurting him, at least not any more than he was already hurting, but that didn't mean that he liked it.

"Be still, Harper."

The voice was familiar, at least. He'd figured that Tyr would come out on top once the shooting started. But the idea of ongoing pain wasn't appealing and he ignored the order.

" _Still_ ," Tyr repeated. "You will hurt far less when your shoulder is wrapped."

Probably true, even if he didn't much like the idea. Tyr didn't seem inclined to give him a choice, though, because a hand wrapped around the back of Harper's neck held him firmly in place, and as another jolt went through his shoulder things darkened again.

The next time he woke up he felt almost like a human being again, and he blinked hard. The lighting was dim, but medical was recognizable enough. One arm—the one that had been dislocated—was bound to his chest, and the rest of his injuries had been treated and were either healed or wrapped and on their way in that direction. A pretty good indication that he and Tyr were the only two still alive, even if there was no sign of the big guy.

"Ah, hell." The lights weren't dim, the flicker program was still running. Tyr's skull was probably about ready to split. Well, that or he'd smashed the light enclosure in his quarters or Command or wherever and was sitting in darkness ready to yell at Harper to fix it. Knowing Tyr, that was more likely.

Harper took a quick look around and then swung his feet over the edge of the bunk and lowered himself to the floor as carefully as he could with one functional arm. The bound one felt okay, but he knew as well as anyone that dislocated shoulders didn't heal instantly, and if it was wrapped there was probably a reason. At least color and feeling had returned to his fingers.

Unfortunately the one who'd shot him in the leg—the leg opposite his arm, at least, so small favors—had been aiming to hurt and had done a pretty good job. His knee ached fiercely when he put weight on it, and he was pretty sure that the bandages that weren't there for support hid burns. Wasn't like he hadn't had worse, though, and he managed all right by keeping his good hand on the wall as he limped his way over to the screen. The idea of trying to hack in while standing on unsteady legs didn't exactly thrill him, especially since he knew that his ribs had taken some hits too even if they weren't bothering him at the moment, but fortunately the panel below the screen was reachable from the floor. Even better, when he popped it off seemed to have the connections that he needed.

He'd lost his jack, or at least he'd left it behind in Tyr's quarters when the Ubers had grabbed him, but it wasn't like he didn't carry a spare, and he sank down and stretched his legs out in front of him before jacking in.

Lights were the first thing to fix, and then Harper did a quick check of the rest of the ship's systems. The engine readouts said that someone had done some damage, but nothing critical and nothing he couldn't fix when he got a chance; they'd managed even less when they'd tried to get into Tyr's encrypted logs. And from what Harper could tell, he and Tyr were now somewhere well off the standard slipstream paths so there was nothing immediate that he needed to do. He disconnected himself and wasn't surprised to find Tyr standing in front of him.

"You are a menace, little professor." One hand caught the back of Harper's collar and swung him back onto the bunk.

"They started it," Harper returned, fighting down the urge to snarl. Not that he was entirely sure how he'd have gotten back up from the floor without some help, but being moved like that without his consent wasn't something that he enjoyed. Light shoves and gentle cuffs didn't bother him, he'd learned back on Andromeda that Tyr was just as tactile as he was in his own way although it wasn't something that everyone saw, but actual force raised unpleasant memories. And what had happened earlier hadn't left him in a good frame of mind in the first place. Still, it wasn't like Tyr intended any harm, and his collar was probably about the safest place to grab right now all things considered. "You okay?" he checked.

"You did more damage than any of those fools. What happened to my lights?"

"Nothing complicated. I set them to cycle at the frequency just below where Nietzschean eyes stop compensating. Optic nerves get so tied up trying to handle the light-dark transitions that they can't do much else; insert blindness here. Plus it seems to hurt like hell." When it came to Ubers—most of them, anyway—it was a bonus as far as he was concerned.

"Take that as given." Tyr rubbed his forehead. "So the glasses change the amount of compensation that needs to be done."

Tyr was a smart guy and it wasn't quite a question, but Harper nodded anyway. "Exactly. Returns some vision. I can account for it if everyone is wearing more or less the same glasses, but at that point it's usually not worth the effort." At that point there were usually Dragans either hunting for or shooting at him, or at least there had been back on Earth, so he'd had other things to worry about.

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Nah, human eyes adapt way slower. Especially on light-to-dark. Things look a little dimmer, but it's not a big deal."

Tyr made a disgusted sound.

"Hey, thank the Dragans. If they'd ever shut up about Nietzschean superiority, maybe I wouldn't have found so many ways to throw it back in their faces."

The expression on Tyr's face made it clear what he thought of that.

"Any idea what triggered this mess?" Harper asked. "I didn't see any sign that the guy digging in your computer tried to resurrect the virus or anything like that, so did they just see your ship and go for it or what?"

"I'm not certain." Something Tyr clearly didn't like admitting. "It is possible." He nodded to the open panel. "You are certain that they didn't put anything new in?"

"I'll do a full scan before we go anywhere else, assuming we aren't leaving now, but no, from what I saw their engineer mostly wanted your records. And then he was pissed off about the lights." He gestured at his arm. "Thanks for patching me up."

Tyr waved it off. "It doesn't appear you have any injuries that won't heal, though being jostled going through slipstream did you no favors."

There were a few things Tyr and Harper agreed on without question, getting out of bad situations before worrying about injuries being one of them, and it was Harper's turn to wave off the comment. He started to lower his feet back to the floor slowly, only to halt as Tyr put a hand against his uninjured shoulder. He didn't even have to push to hold Harper in place, but Harper found himself jerking back anyway, and then sucking in his breath as his shoulder protested. "Come on, release the human. I want to see what their engineer did."

"And allow you to fall on your face and worsen your concussion? I've no plans to go anywhere for several days." He tilted his head and then removed his hand, taking a seat on the bunk beside Harper. /You've got quite the vocabulary, little man. Are you fluent?/

/Fluent when listening. Speaking…,/ Harper shrugged. Well, he started to and then winced when his bound shoulder objected again. That was going to get real annoying real fast. /Speak—I speak—okay if you want insults./ Another pause as he tried to find the right words. He would know them if he heard them, and once upon a time he had been the next best thing to fluent, but it had been a long time since he'd even heard High Nietzche. /If you want nice, speak Common./

/Where did you learn?/

Harper looked up at Tyr, rolling his eyes. /Where do you think? Got—I got—caught in…by…./ He gave up and switched back to Common. "I got caught in a slaver sweep when I was twelve or thirteen. Usually they'd throw someone my size back unless they needed charge boys in the mines since it's not like a sixty pound kid is much use for anything else, but this time they dragged me up to a suborbital with a couple dozen others."

Tyr scoffed. "A Nietzschean child would be twice that size that by that age. Easily."

"Yeah, there's a shock." He wasn't too much more than twice that now. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure that that place was punishment duty for everyone involved, Dragans included. Probably why there was such turnover in the human population; they took it all out on us. Given how cramped it was, they used High Nietzsche among themselves when we weren't supposed to understand." He couldn't help a snort. "It would have worked better if it wasn't such a damn easy language to pick up."

* * *

Tyr wasn't sure he'd say that, but Harper didn't always define 'easy' in the same way that other people did. High Nietzsche was one of Drago Museveni's few…Tyr wouldn't call it a failure, exactly, but it hadn't taken over as the lingua franca of the galaxy in the way that the Progenitor had envisioned. About the only usage it had in these times was among Nietzscheans in formal situations, and even that was becoming steadily rarer. His joining with Freya had been conducted entirely in Common. "How long did they have you?" he asked.

"That time, maybe two or three months." Harper rocked his free hand. "Something like that, anyway, although it was always hard to mark time up there. Spent our shifts loading and unloading tributes from the settlements, but they were never on a very regular schedule."

"An undersized child is hardly a good choice for such a task," Tyr observed. Harper still wouldn't be much use for something of that sort today, in Tyr's opinion. Although it was just as well. He had seen firsthand how long charge boys in the mines survived; despite his affinity for explosives Harper would have had great difficulty beating those statistics. Tyr had been fortunate that he'd been too large at fifteen to be considered for such a task.

"No kidding," Harper said with a roll of his eyes. "Especially when the antigravs kept shorting out. But they weren't exactly interested in my opinion. Anyway, it took a bit, but eventually I hacked their computers and shipped myself home in a load of turnips. Or, technically I shipped myself to the Dragan compound in Boston and then snuck out through the vents, but you get the idea."

That sounded about right. "And no one noticed?" Tyr asked. Even the Drago-Kazov shouldn't have been that unobservant.

Harper went quiet for a minute. "There was one guard who might have. He liked to—" Whatever he liked doing was enough to make Harper's knuckles go white where he clenched his hand, but he cut himself off and shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Especially since he and some friends of his died in an airlock malfunction a few days before I did it. None of the others ever looked at me twice except to knock me around, same as they did everyone else, and as for the other slaves…humans died all the time. I doubt anyone thought a thing about it when I didn't return from shift."

"You, of course, had nothing to do with that airlock malfunction," Tyr said, not bothering to make it a question. Or to ask what the worthless excuse for a Nietzschean had done. There was a long list of unpleasant possibilities, and in the end Harper had dealt with it.

"Would I do that?"

Harper started to push himself up again, and Tyr caught his collar again and set him further back on the bunk. There was no good reason for him to be up on that damaged leg just yet.

Harper twisted hard and his eyes flashed without humor. "Let _go_. I'm fine. I want to see what they did to the engine room."

"You want injure yourself further, from what I can see," Tyr said, although he moved his hand away. It probably hadn't been the wisest thing for him to do given the history that Harper had just related; the little professor was perfectly capable of being dangerous when he felt trapped, even when there was no need for it. "Stay there and I will get us dinner," he offered.

Harper scowl didn't fade but he did nod, and Tyr went to see what he had. According to the regen unit Harper's jaw had taken damage so perhaps soup or stew.

By the time he got back to the medical bay with two bowls, Harper had returned to the floor in front of the panel and jacked himself back into the ship, and Tyr sighed and sank down beside him. "Boy…."

Harper didn't hear the grumbled complaint, of course, and Tyr put his back against the wall beside Harper and waited for him to pull himself free. At least he'd left his bandages alone, and the binding on his shoulder as well. Tyr hadn't been willing to risk any Nietzschean numbing agents on a human—if anyone was going to have a bad reaction it would be Harper, and he was no medic—and everything that Harper had was topical, so he'd had to put it back in the socket without the help of medication. It hadn't been a pleasant experience. Harper had only regained consciousness for a moment, but it had been a moment of screaming.

Harper's eyes twitched and then one hand came up and removed the wire. Tyr waited until Harper had blinked a few times and focused on him before cuffing at him.

"Ow!"

"I didn't touch you." Nor would he have, given Harper's injuries, although Harper was back to looking more mock-offended than upset which was a good sign.

"It's the principle of the thing."

"That's what I was going to say." He passed Harper a bowl and kept the other for himself. "I forgot that you are categorically incapable of being still."

"How'd you forget that?"

"I find myself curious as well." He nodded to the panel behind Harper. "What did you find?"

"My hacks to pass whatever fake travel info you want to whoever was tracking you are still in place, although I don't know if there's much point in keeping that going at this point. There are some missing connections in other systems, probably things that got smashed, but since I haven't been allowed to go to the engine room and your surveillance systems are pretty spotty, I can't say for sure. This is good."

Tyr nodded at the compliment and ignored the complaint. "What happened? Aside from the concussion, dislocated shoulder and the shot to your leg, to the regen unit said that you had a couple broken ribs and a few loose teeth as well."

Harper downed another spoonful before answering. "I was poking around your smuggler bay when they broke in. Thought it was you getting back, at first, but when I realized what was going on I borrowed the command panel in your quarters to make their lives unpleasant. Unfortunately they found me when they were sweeping the ship and decided to make my life unpleasant."

"Short of stopping your heartbeat, you couldn't have avoided it once they were in the room," Tyr offered. "You shot one of them."

"Yeah, the one that was right in front of me when my proximity alert dropped me out of your computers. Didn't help much since his friend was behind me and there was another one by the door, though. The one ripped my arm out of its socket when he pulled me out from under the bed, and it turns out that screaming into a shriller is a lot less useful than blowing into one. Made him drop me long enough for me to get a few shots off at the other guy, I guess, but then he backhanded it out of my mouth—and me into the wall—and…." He started to shrug. "Ow. Got to stop doing that."

"It will heal in a day or two. They destroyed your whistle, though."

"I'll make another. You got them all?"

"Of course." Tyr tilted his head and then flicked Harper's uninjured shoulder lightly. "You need to learn to count. There were seven onboard, not six."

"Hey, genius here. I can't do much if the leader of the whole mess can't be bothered show up on time."

"The leader?"

"That's what I figured he was, anyway." Harper put the spoon down and lifted the bowl to his lips, taking a quick sip before speaking again. "The other two were knocking me around when he showed up and told them to bring me to Command, and then he's the one who ended up shooting me."

"To be fair, wanting to shoot you is probably a fairly common desire."

Harper jabbed an elbow in his general direction. "Did you have any luck finding whoever you were hunting for before your ship got invaded?"

"No." Tyr couldn't help an annoyed growl. "I know there's a great deal of turnover on this station, but I was unable to find _anyone_ that I wished to speak to."

"Wow, that doesn't sound suspicious. Assuming 'anyone' isn't one guy, anyway."

"It isn't, and that was the conclusion that I came to as well, especially since it hasn't been that long since I was last here. And none of the four left anything in the way of contact information, either. I felt no eyes on my back, though, and no one was following me."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Harper had better sense than to question his assertion further, tiling his head back and humming quietly. "Maybe they figured they didn't need to follow you if they were lying in wait when you got back?" he asked after a moment, looking back over at Tyr.

"As reasonable a suggestion as anything," Tyr agreed. "You said that they were trying to get into my files?"

"Yeah. Pretty rudimentary stuff from what I saw, though; no way was he cracking your encryption."

"Have you?"

"Not yet."

He smirked, and Tyr growled and swatted at him again. "As soon as you're healed, professor."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Could you tell what he was trying to get?"

"More logs than travel info, I'd say, given file sizes and locations, but that's mostly an educated guess based on what I was seeing in your slipstream records when I was virus-hunting."

That was not good news, and Tyr felt himself tensing. "Is it possible that he copied something or transmitted my data elsewhere, even if it was still encrypted?"

"Copied, sure, that's no trick when you've got direct access to the hardware. Transmitted, though…I don't know. I didn't see any outgoing transmissions when I was inside, but the only comm stuff I was really paying attention to was what I could use to access your personal communicator."

"Can you find out?" There were plenty of things that in his past it didn't really matter if someone discovered, almost all of the jobs he'd taken among them. No doubt that his clients would disagree, and he wouldn't _like_ his reputation being tarnished in that manner, but it was nothing that he couldn't overcome. Information of a personal nature, however, was a different story. He'd kept knowledge of the genetic changes he'd made to an inner circle, knowledge being power and Nietzscheans recognizing that, but it was hard to say how that inner circle might spread the information after he'd split from them. Given that the intruders had been Nietzscheans, if someone—be they connected with the virus or not—was looking for proof, or worse, if they'd accessed one of the few items that indicated the existence of his son and now merely needed to decode it….

"That important, huh."

It wasn't a question, and Tyr didn't bother to answer as Harper drained the last of the liquid from the bowl and handed it back, reaching for the wire. "Give me a few minutes. I can at least say for sure if someone accessed your comm array after you registered for docking."


	9. Nightmare

_Thanks to everyone who read, as always reviews are appreciated._

* * *

"So help me, if you don't get down here and put that sling back on I will beat you within an inch of your life."

Harper hooked an arm around the ladder rail and twisted to make a face at Tyr. The big guy fussed more than Beka ever had sometimes.

Of course, he was also far more likely to carry out his threats, and Harper yelped and swung himself inside the rails as Tyr raised an eyebrow and caught one of the rungs. Not that Tyr had ever beaten him, obviously, but he wouldn't hesitate to cuff at Harper or shove him around until Harper was too busy laughing to keep arguing, either.

Even if he had somewhere to climb to, which he didn't since the ladder just led up to some connections in an overhead panel, Harper couldn't climb faster than Tyr, and he wasn't about to try to jump down on a still-shaky knee. He stayed where he was until a smirking Tyr came on level with him.

"Not your wisest move, little man."

Harper grinned. And let go. He didn't fall far, Tyr had him by the front of his jacket before he'd dropped more than two rungs, but he was surprised by the rough shake that followed.

"Do _not_ do that!"

Harper put both feet back onto a rung, and one hand went to a rail while the other latched onto Tyr's wrist. "What's wrong?" His weight was nothing to Tyr, and they both knew it. And even if Tyr had somehow managed to miss him he was perfectly capable of catching himself. He'd spent practically half his life climbing ladders.

For a minute it looked like Tyr was going to answer, but then he shook his head. "Just get down properly."

"Okay. Sure."

Tyr released him and leaped back to the deck. Harper would have called him a showoff, but he obviously wasn't even thinking about it.

Harper himself swung back around to the other side of the rails and climbed down normally. "I'm fine, Tyr. Really," he said seriously, making no move to pick up the scrap of fabric he'd tossed away earlier. He didn't mind cooperating with Tyr about the getting-down part, especially since he'd finished what he wanted to get done up there anyway, but the sling was just an annoyance at this point.

"I realize that. I…." Tyr trailed off with a shake of his head.

Harper frowned, and then his brain finally kicked in for something besides circuits. Tyr hadn't been in a _great_ mood these past few days, not since Harper had confirmed that one of the intruders had accessed his communications array, but he hadn't been in an unusually bad one either. Just a little growly. But this morning he'd doubled his workout time—at the very least; he'd been at it for a while by the time Harper had woken up—hadn't even made a token insult about Harper's attempt at breakfast, and drank enough caff to drown a normal person. It was practically a bright, blinking 'nightmare' sign, or it would have been if Harper had been paying attention.

Of course, coming right out and asking Tyr about a bad night made about as much sense as trying to have a philosophy discussion with a Ravenous Blugblatter Beast of Trall and would probably be marginally less useful. "Want to help me put some consoles back together?" he asked instead. "They're heavy enough that it's hard for me to move them alone."

Tyr scoffed but didn't object, and Harper moved the ripped up consoles to the top of his list. No systems were at critical so the repair order didn't matter much, and it was an easier place for Tyr to help than if he spent the day crawling around the slipstream core. And as he'd learned during the innumerable repairs back on Andromeda, if he started chattering Tyr would eventually give in and join the conversation.

Tyr settled in beside him and braced the first console up with his back and no apparent effort, and Harper got through two console repairs, a detailed explanation of what he was doing that Tyr probably didn't understand more than one word in three of, and an overly-complicated story involving him, his cousins, and a nuclear reactor they'd once tried to build before he finally spoke again.

"Your parents were dead by then, correct?"

"What? Yeah." Harper rocked back on his heels and looked over at him. He couldn't say that he'd expected the question, but Tyr had already admitted to a bad night. More or less, anyway. And their nightmares weren't always that dissimilar, as weird as that still felt when he thought about the fact that he was talking to someone with blades on his arms.

"You were young when it happened?"

"Yeah," Harper confirmed. "About six." They'd talked about their homes and the loss of their families before, albeit in more general terms, but it wasn't like the details were any secret. "When the Dragans came for me, my parents shoved me out the escape hatch and told me to run. I knew my dad was dead the second he pulled out a blaster—I'm still not sure where he even found one—but I thought my mom…." He shook his head quickly. He'd thought wrong, and there was no point in dwelling on it. "I lived with my cousins' family after that."

Tyr tilted his head. "Why would they come for you? You'd have been of even less use at six than at twelve."

"Gee, thanks." It was a fair question, though, and Harper found himself staring at his hands. There had been a reason to keep what had happened, or at least why it had happened, secret once upon a time, but Tyr knew what he could do as well as anyone. Besides which, he'd already admitted that they'd been after him.

"Professor?"

Harper looked up at him again. "You know when I say I'm a genius it's not actually a joke, right?" He might treat it like one most of the time, but his brain had never worked like anyone else's he'd ever known. Well, aside from that of the occasional Perseid. He tried not to think about that too much.

"I assumed as much."

"Well, when I was a kid we didn't know that. Or I didn't, anyway. I mean, I always knew I was smarter than the other kids, but it was never a big deal. And then a couple Dragans came to the school one day and made us take this test. Galactic Standard Intelligence whatever."

"It is a common enough test on Nietzschean slave worlds." Tyr paused. "Probably in part to identify people like you."

"Yeah, well, it worked. I was pretty terrified of the Dragans themselves, I'd seen them kill kids before, but I didn't even realize that the test was supposed to be hard until I heard the other kids grumbling about it on the way home. Pattern matching is a joke for me and always has been; algorithm development and numerical analysis aren't much harder. It's why I like this stuff," he said with a wave at the current in-progress console. "It's at least _real_. My parents got quiet when I told them, though, and by the time it was dark there were Dragans at the door ordering them to hand me over."

"That's when they told you to run."

Harper nodded. "Like I said, I don't even know where my dad got a blaster, but he did some damage while my mom shoved me out the back and told me to never tell anyone what I thought about that stupid test."

Tyr looked skeptical. "And that was all that it took for you to escape? Surely it wouldn't have been so difficult to track you down afterwards."

"It shouldn't have been," Harper agreed. "We were living by the cape then, and the town wasn't that big. Even if I told my aunt and uncle that they'd come for my mother—she was pretty; it wouldn't have been a surprise—all it would have taken was them telling anyone that they were looking for me and my uncle would have handed me over without a second thought. It never happened, though. I mean, my parents' bodies were crucified in the square, so they'd done that much, and most people just figured they'd been called back to the garrison for one reason or another and were glad we'd escaped more torment after that little object lesson, but after a few weeks we found out that the whole garrison had been abandoned. And not just the one near us, either. They never pulled out of the cities or the big encampments, but from what we figured out later at least a quarter of the Dragans on Earth took off overnight. After that, at least up until me and Brendan and Isaac went up to Boston, the only Ubers I saw were the ones guarding the tribute loaders. Not one of 'em ever gave me a second look." A pause. "Nietzscheans. Whatever."

Tyr snorted. And then frowned. "How old are you?"

"What?" That wasn't exactly the question that he'd been expecting.

"How old? Without accounting for the time travel incident."

"'Incident,' there's a nice word for it," Harper said with a roll of his eyes. "I don't know, twenty-nine, maybe? Thirty? Something like that, but I've never kept very close track. Why?"

* * *

Tyr had always assumed that there were a dozen or so years between them in age, but it wasn't a surprise to learn that it was a bit less than that. Harper's size and demeanor were good camouflage, and he used them well. Harper was still looking at him, and for a moment he wanted to be angry, but the survival of one human had nothing to do with the fall of his pride. "Despite your questionable grasp of the timeline, I suspect that that aligns rather closely with the attack on Kodiak pride." He'd long since come to the conclusion that the lack of warning had been because the Drago-Kazov had gathered their forces on a slave world that no one had been paying any attention to; Earth fit those qualifications as well as any.

"I'm sorry, big guy," Harper said, nudging him lightly.

He meant it, and Tyr shook his head. Harper could be a mean, vicious little monster when he wanted to be. He had no qualms about lying, shooting people in the back, and employing all manner of underhanded attacks up to and including improvised bombs—very Nietzschean qualities; Harper wouldn't appreciate the sentiment but Tyr approved entirely—but he could also be fiercely loyal to a level that Tyr didn't always understand. He did know that it hadn't been so bad having Harper around, though. He was a reasonably good engineer, after all, even if he still couldn't tell Tyr exactly what information had been transmitted from his ship or where it had gone beyond the first dead drop which was making Tyr's nights less than restful. When they weren't less than restful for other reasons. He closed his eyes against the nightmare image of a little boy he saw only in rare vid conversations crying out for him. He wasn't sure what time he'd awakened with those sounds ringing in his ears, but he did know that he hadn't slept a minute longer afterwards.

Harper nudged his shoulder again, and Tyr cuffed at him automatically. Harper's 'block' wouldn't have done anything against a real hit and Tyr made a mental note to force him through some sort of self-defense course before he left to set up his new shop—he wouldn't always have one of those demonic little whistles on him, and not all of his opponents would be Nietzscheans—but he hadn't put any weight behind the blow either and Harper's yelp was entirely exaggerated.

"Hey, no abusing the engineer!"

Tyr raised an eyebrow and straightened slightly, deliberately emphasizing the size difference between them, and Harper stuck out his tongue and scrambled away from his current console and under another that had yet to be repaired. Which, considering that Tyr had been holding up consoles for him for the last couple hours, was exactly as useful as it sounded. Despite the images that he still couldn't quite banish from his mind, Tyr couldn't help a chuckle.

"Well, that sounds better," Harper said, poking his head back out and gesturing at the console around him. "Come on, up."

"There is something very wrong with you." Tyr lowered the one Harper had apparently just finished with and moved to the new one lifting it enough to give him some room.

"Did both of your parents die that night?" Harper asked as he went back to work.

Tyr hesitated. He hadn't intended to speak of his own parents, and if he didn't answer, Harper would find something else to talk about soon enough. The fact that Harper could and frequently did provide all of his own conversation was one of the reasons that he didn't mind working with the little professor. And yet…. "My father had been called to conclave two nights before," he said slowly. At fifteen he'd been too young to be party to why the call had gone out, but he remembered his father leaving them with a smile. Tyr would never know for certain whether the man had seen death coming, but he didn't think so. Barbarossa Anasazi had been a true Nietzschean. He would have found _some_ way to warn his family. "The Prime orbital was hit first, though, and there were no survivors. My mother and I were together when the boarding parties reached our home a few hours later." His fingers curled inwards. "She was slow and chose to turn back and fight in order to give us—me—a better chance at getting away. For all the good it did."

"At least she tried."

"As your parents did."

Harper hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "How many brothers and sisters did you have?"

"Of full siblings, none." Very unusual for a Nietzschean child, and no doubt it had played a large part in his mother's choice. "From what I understand my birth was difficult, and my mother had no more children after myself. Of half-siblings, I had four brothers and a sister, but we were not overly familiar."

"Why not?"

"My mother was my father's first wife despite the fact that she bore him only one child, and his second and third wives did not encourage closeness between us."

Harper's forehead wrinkled, and Tyr waved a hand. The politics within a Nietzschean pride were at least as complicated as those without, and not something that he cared to try explaining to a non-Nietzschean. Given that he hadn't lived it for more than half his life at this point, it was entirely possible that he wouldn't even be able to explain all of the intricacies involved.

"My father would never have tolerated fighting between us," he continued instead, "but given that the oldest of my half-siblings was five years younger than myself we never had a great deal of inclination to interact anyway. Perhaps as we became adults we might have also have become allies, but it's unlikely that we'd ever have been more than that."

"That kind of sucks."

Tyr shrugged. He'd seen Ajax and Jason playing together sometimes and wondered what that might have been like, but he'd had his parents and a few age-mates at school. It had been enough. "Did…?"

"Did what?" Harper asked when he cut himself off.

Tyr hesitated. Harper was tolerable enough company, all things considered, even beyond his engineering abilities. But he'd been brutalized by Nietzscheans far too many times in one short life, and Tyr already knew what his opinion on a united Nietzschean pride was. And the more people who knew about his son the more potential danger it put Tamerlane in even if he didn't reveal all the details. Perhaps phrased in a different context, though, the question was viable. "The people who raised you had a vested interest in your survival, correct?"

"That's a weird way to say it, but I guess so," Harper said after a minute. "My uncle never liked me much, but my aunt and my mom were sisters so they sort of had to take me."

A Nietzschean wouldn't necessarily agree with that statement, at least not without the expectation of some benefit further down the line. That was his greatest fear with the situation he'd had to leave Tamerlane in, and the vid calls that had become steadily rarer since the defeat of the Nietzschean fleet hardly soothed those fears. With Tamerlane getting older he should be seeing his father more, not less, no matter what excuses Olma made. Orca's matriarch had her own reasons for keeping the boy, and Tyr wanted to believe that she loved him as well, but he was not her blood and she was a Nietzschean. If his recordings—recordings that he should _never_ have kept, in retrospect, no matter how much it would have hurt to destroy what little he had of his son—somehow gave away something, if someone came for Tamerlane, he just didn't know what her choice would be. Would she fight as hard for him as his own blood would?

"Did they care for you?" he asked slowly. "Treat you well? As young as you were, you must have relied on them for a great deal." He'd been old enough when the slavers had taken him to stand on his own, just as well given that those he'd been thrown into the mines with had had no love for Nietzscheans of any age, and by the time he'd escaped he'd understood all too well that he was alone in the universe. A far different situation than being a six year old child, however intelligent Harper might have been.

"Sure," Harper said with a frown. "Or they did the best they could, anyway. There wasn't always enough food or supplies to go around, but that wasn't their fault."

"You said that your uncle would have turned you over to the Drago-Kazov."

"He wouldn't have risked his own family for me, that's for sure, but can you blame him?"

He couldn't. It was a very Nietzschean attitude and not exactly a response to settle his mind.

"What's up, Tyr?" Harper asked after a moment. "Why are you asking about my family?"

His eyes narrowed, and Tyr could practically see the calculations running. And he already knew that Harper was far too smart for his own good.

"Shit. Your nightmare wasn't about you. You've got a kid."


	10. Tamerlane

_Thanks to everyone who read. As always reviews are appreciated._

* * *

Harper rocked back on his heels and stared up at the frame in front of him. Not only had he been right about what it was, the frame was in decent shape, too. He hadn't taken much more than a glance at the internals yet, and if the one fried control panel that he had seen was anything to go by it'd take at least a solid month of work to get it into anything like a usable state, but it was definitely in the realm of doable. Of course, he wasn't going to be here to do the work, but maybe if Tyr wasn't too attached to it he wouldn't object to giving the frame to Harper as part of his payment. Assuming that they could get it out of here.

Harper looked behind him. Assuming that Tyr didn't murder him. Sometimes his mouth got away from him, and he really, really should have shut up rather than blurting out his conclusions this morning. Not that he thought they were wrong, just...really badly timed.

Normally he didn't consider Tyr dangerous. Well, okay, he always considered Tyr _dangerous_ , he wasn't an idiot, but it had been a while since he'd seen Tyr as dangerous to _him_. When all was said and done he was just a scrawny kludge, after all, and while he had no particular problem with reducing Nietzscheans to their component parts—with explosives and from a safe distance, thank you—he'd never been the one to start the fights. And as long as he wasn't starting it and his presence didn't somehow endanger Tyr's life, Tyr wasn't the kind of person who'd bother with more than the occasional threat. Especially since he liked Harper, even if he'd never admit it.

Except now there was a kid involved. At least one. You didn't mess with a Nietzschean's kids. You didn't even think about messing with a Nietzschean's kids if you knew what was good for you. Harper had never been one for that kind of twisted guerrilla warfare anyway, but he'd known some guys back on Earth who'd been much less discriminating in their targets, and it had never ended well. For them or for anyone else within a pretty extreme blast radius. Presumably Tyr had been keeping his kid-or-kids a secret for some reason, and what he was likely to do now that Harper knew Harper couldn't even begin to guess. As it was Tyr had just dropped the console and stalked away, but Harper hadn't seen him in a while. Long enough that he'd retreated into the smugglers' bay and wasn't too sure if he'd come back down for dinner or not.

A quick look around the bay didn't reveal any sudden answers, and with a sigh Harper braced himself and hopped up on the nose of the racer, ducking his head as he did so to avoid slamming his skull into the ceiling panels. Putting himself to work wouldn't give him any answers either, but at least it would keep him occupied. Nothing good ever happened when he gave his paranoia free reign, and if worst came to worst he had a new shriller and half a dozen flash-bangs on him along with his gun and tools.

He dropped in through the gaping hole where the racer's front shield should be and landed on a gritty floor. As he'd noted before, the control panels were a mess, but maybe there was something worth salvaging hiding in here somewhere. If nothing else, it'd be good to get a general idea of what the systems had once looked like before he tried to build new versions himself.

The pilot seat had been ripped out at some point and it only took a few kicks to dislodge the passenger seat in the rear as well, after which it was tossed out through the same hole he'd entered through. From the look of things it had been held in by a few years of dust and not much else, and without it he had a little more room to work.

Wall panels first, they tended to do the best job of protecting internal conduits provided that the frame remained intact, and when he pried one free he found that that was the case here as well. Older tech but usable enough. Mostly. He'd put some test current through, just in case, before he actually tried to use the old conduits to power anything.

He'd worked his way all the way forward, mentally noting what absolutely had to be replaced versus what might be salvageable, and managed to pry open the obviously-fried front panel to investigate the rat's nest of corroded wires inside it when the little hairs on the back of his neck lifted and he tensed automatically. "Hey, Tyr."

Tyr leaned against the frame, craning his head to peer inside at Harper. Well, to peer at Harper or just to avoid hitting his head on anything. He really did not look comfortable in the cramped bay, and under other circumstances Harper might have snickered. Now wasn't exactly the time to be laughing, though, even if Tyr's blades were down and he didn't look immediately murderous.

"What are you doing, professor?"

"Seeing what can be salvaged."

"From this?" He sneered. "You have low standards."

"Hey, this was impressive engineering work in its time." Just because Tyr might be planning to do away with him was no reason to let Tyr be rude about his work.

"A time clearly long past. You're late for dinner. Are you planning to join me?"

"Oh." His stomach was starting to complain a little, now that Tyr mentioned it. It was an annoying fact about eating; once you started doing it regularly your body expected you to _keep_ doing it regularly. He rocked up from his kneeling position into a crouch. "Depends. Are you planning to poison me?" It would be kind of a silly thing for Tyr to do since he could just reach in and grab Harper by the throat and that would be the end of it right now—or it would be if Harper didn't stab him in the arm, which of course he would, and then things would get really ugly—but there were plenty of things that would kill Harper that wouldn't even give Tyr a stomachache so it wasn't completely out of the question.

* * *

Tyr couldn't read any humor in the steady eyes staring up at him, and he couldn't precisely blame Harper. Harper had known immediately that he'd been trying to hide his son's existence, even if Tyr hadn't confirmed his words and had found reason to be elsewhere before Harper's mouth had even shut, and obviously the surest way to protect Tamerlane would be to remove Harper from the equation. But it wasn't as if there was anyone here for Harper to tell. He'd have plenty of time to find a more permanent solution before they reached another station.

Harper was still watching him, and he waved off the question. "Don't be absurd. It would be far more efficient to simply break your neck."

"You know, if that's your idea of being reassuring, you're awful at it."

Tyr didn't bother to dignify that with a response. "Get out here, Harper. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now, and the meal is growing later as we speak." He could think of half a dozen ways offhand, despite the fact that Harper was nowhere near as helpless as he appeared, the simplest of which being to shoot him.

"You know, it's kind of a sad commentary on my life when that _is_ reassuring." Harper waved at Tyr to step back and then scrambled up and out the front of the whatever-it-was, landing where Tyr had been standing. "So what's for dinner, anyway?"

Tyr suppressed an annoyed grumble at the fact that Harper barely had to tilt his head to clear the ceiling panels. Why whoever had built this place hadn't made it half again as tall as it was he would never understand; he already knew from the layout of the kitchen that they had been his height or better so this couldn't have been comfortable for them either. "The last of the Algelican bluefish," he said as he turned for the hatch. "Hardly something I'd waste on poisoning someone."

"Most things that would poison me wouldn't even give you a stomachache," Harper said. "I've tried."

Tyr looked back at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, not on _you_. I'm not an idiot. Besides, you complain whenever I'm in the galley without you anyway."

"That's because you make a mess whenever you're in there without supervision." At least when Harper made a mess of one of his engineering spaces he had the excuse that things usually functioned better when he was done. When it was the kitchen, it seemed to be a mess just for the sake of a mess, and Tyr had no idea how he managed it in less than half the time of a simple morning workout. An omelet was not that complicated.

Harper denied the accusation, of course, but Tyr ignored him as he slid down the ladder to the bottom of the cargo bay and waited for Harper to follow a bit more sedately. At least he seemed to have been telling the truth earlier and his arm was healed, although he was still favoring one leg as much as he tried to hide it.

"So if you aren't going to kill me, does he or she or they have a name or names?" Harper asked as he reached the deck beside Tyr.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, if you're going to kill me for knowing at all, you might as well fill in some details."

Tyr shook his head at the absurdity of the statement, but in some ways Harper had a point. Or he would if it wasn't just Tamerlane's existence that Tyr felt the need to hide, at least. And in some ways it would be a relief to tell someone about his son, just for the sheer relief of being able to _talk_ about his son rather than constantly guarding his words. "His name is Tamerlane," he said finally as they reached the kitchen. The counter was already set with plates, and he was pleased to find the fish still looking nicely done when he pulled it out of the warmer. Fish had an annoying tendency to dry out, and it had taken a longer than he'd expected to find Harper when he'd gone hunting earlier. He still needed to find Harper a communicator.

Harper gave his hands a desultory wash—it was amazing that he hadn't killed himself through simple negligence yet—and then hopped up on to one of the stools. "So how old is he? Or did your wife and son somehow survive when you pulled that disappearing act way back when and you just decided not to tell the rest of us about it?"

Tyr slapped his fingers before he could snatch any vegetables from the tray. "Kindly use a serving fork like a civilized person. And Freya's death was genuine, but I was able to smuggle my son out of the area without the Gennites becoming suspicious. The secrecy was—is—necessary for his safety."

"Right."

The word was drawn out with an accompanying eye roll, and Tyr glared. "Eat your dinner before I do kill you."

"Yeah, yeah. So what's he like?"

"He is...young. He's very clever and has quite the vocabulary from what Olma has told me, but on the rare occasion that we speak he never says much." Next to nothing without Olma's prompting. Solemn and quiet and Tyr could count the number of times that he'd managed to get a smile from him on one hand. "I suspect that it's simply unfamiliarity," he said, although the justification sounded even more hollow when voiced. "I'm sure that things will improve as he grows to understand the situation more."

Harper nodded and kept eating, and after a moment Tyr continued.

"He does quite well in his classes despite his age, and Olma tells me that he handles himself admirably in his activities and as measured against the other children on the station." Of course, that was only to be expected from a properly-raised Nietzschean child, but still, it was good to hear.

"What kind of activities can a four or five year old do? I mean, I can't imagine she—his grandmother or something, I guess?—has him out scrounging for food or kindling or whatever."

"He is involved in sports, of course, to build muscle and improve coordination and agility. Small crafts to build dexterity." Not in the same type of facilities that he'd had access to as a child, perhaps, but under the circumstances he accepted that Olma was doing her best. In that respect, at least.

He found himself describing a short vid of Tamerlane's last match against another child who was older but of similar size, and somehow that led into a story about the small object he'd designed for Tyr as a gift—not one that Tyr had been able to collect, of course, but in this particular case he'd been pleased enough to accept the thought despite the fact that normally Nietzscheans eschewed such things—and then some of his class results and the next thing he knew the food remaining in front of him was cold and Harper was trying to hide a yawn.

"Sorry," Harper said with a quick smile when he realized that Tyr had caught him. "He sounds like a great kid, honest. I'm just beat."

As well he should be considering that the meal had started late and then Tyr had somehow managed to talk for almost four hours without realizing it. He never did that, and he was just as glad that his complexion was such that it hid his flush when he realized that he was actually growing hoarse. "You should have said something rather than expect me to entertain you for hours," he snapped.

Harper rolled his eyes and hopped off the stool, putting his plate in the washer and patting Tyr's arm. "Love you too, big guy."


	11. Sticking Around

_Thanks to everyone who read and to Aileil and KB for reviewing._

* * *

"Damn it, boy, get out here!"

"No! I don't want to, and you can't make me!"

"Oh, really?"

In retrospect that probably hadn't been the smartest thing to say to a Nietzschean who made two of him and for some insane reason had decided that he needed self-defense lessons, and Harper tried to scoot further under the bizarre machine in the corner of the gym at the amusement in Tyr's tone. There was no way that that boded well for him.

He was reasonably sure that the machine he was currently under had something to do with weights, and definitely sure that he didn't want anything to do with it either since most of the weight panels would probably squish him, but most concerning was the fact that the walls that it backed up to didn't seem to contain any useful access panels. Or escape hatches. Or anything else that might slow down a hand-to-hand-happy Nietzschean.

One spiked forearm—blades down; Tyr wasn't an idiot—came in through the gap that Harper had wriggled through and swiped at him, but Tyr's shoulders were far too broad to fit and Harper was safely out of reach.

Unfortunately he didn't see a lot of options. Coming out and participating in whatever insanity Tyr wanted to include him in wasn't going to happen. He didn't want to stab or shoot Tyr. He didn't want to get smacked _by_ Tyr which precluded use of his shriller or a flash-bang. "This is not fair," he muttered.

"Life isn't fair, now stop this nonsense."

Stupid Nietzschean hearing. "You first," he returned, raising his voice. "I was just minding my own business, looking for breakfast, and the next thing I knew you were dragging me into a gym." He was reasonably sure that this was some kind of payback for letting Tyr talk his ear off the other day, although he wasn't sure why that would require payback one way or the other. It was pretty obvious that Tyr had needed to talk, and okay, sure, the rugrat was Nietzschean so by definition not on Harper's Christmas list, but he was also Tyr's rugrat which made him sort of a little bit okay. Or at least Harper would absolutely get him something annoying and noisemaking just to irritate Tyr, and never mind that no Nietzschean that Harper had ever met even celebrated Christmas anyway. "Now, if you want me to _fix_ one of your weird machines I'm happy to help," he continued, returning to the more important subject at hand wherein Tyr had him thoroughly trapped under a whatever, "but other than that I want nothing to do with any gym anywhere."

Tyr swiped at him again.

"And that is not helping your case!"

Tyr growled and pulled his arm back, and Harper couldn't decide if that was a good or a very bad sign. The weights above might be heavy enough to crush him, but Tyr had almost certainly brought the thing onto the ship which meant that he could move it again if he really wanted to.

Harper twisted around, prying open the wall panel a little further. He didn't need much of an opening, just enough to scoot through.

"What, precisely, is the harm in learning to properly defend yourself?" Tyr asked, and Harper looked over to find him crouched down staring through the gap.

"I know how to properly defend myself, thanks. Shoot, stab, or blow up whatever jackass wants to hurt me this week." No luck with that panel. He twisted the opposite direction, careful to keep as close to the wall as he could. Tyr had long arms.

"And if you can't do any of those things?"

"Hide until they go away or curl up in a ball until it's over."

Tyr scoffed.

"Hey, I've kept myself alive this long, haven't I?" He'd taken more injuries over his lifetime than he cared to think about, maybe, but it was still a lot better than the alternative.

Tyr didn't look convinced, and Harper sighed.

"Look, if you ever see me in anything even vaguely approaching hand-to-hand combat, you can feel absolutely and totally free to take over, okay? In fact, I encourage it. But I've got no interest in throwing punches at someone twice my size. It doesn't end well for me. It's _never_ ended well for me."

Tyr was quiet for a moment. "Come out and I'll make you a deal, professor."

Harper paused. "Deal first and then maybe I'll come out."

"You do realize that I'm the one who moved that trainer in here."

Sometimes he hated being right. "Deal first," he repeated as he resumed his search for an alternate exit. This panel was a failure too, but maybe if he could scoot a little further...

Unfortunately Tyr's reflexes were good even for a Nietzschean's, and his hand was wrapped around Harper's wrist in just about the same instant that Harper realized that he'd gotten too close.

"Damn it!"

That got a chuckle out of Tyr although he made no attempt to remove Harper from his hiding place. Of course, he didn't release Harper's wrist, either. "Simple enough. You come out here—let me finish. You come out here. I will start on the other side of the room. If you can make it out the door without me catching you, the lesson will be over for the day and I will come make us breakfast."

Harper considered for a moment. "Get out of the room, that's all I have to do?"

"Yes."

"And if I can't?" Seeing as Tyr had already technically caught him once.

"Then the lesson is not over and you will attempt what I ask. Do we have a deal?"

His hand tightened slightly on Harper's wrist, not that Harper had needed the reminder that he didn't have a lot of options, and Harper sighed. "Fine. Deal. But you have to let go and back up first."

"Such faith."

"Nietzscheans don't fight fair." Not that he did either, fighting fair was a real good way to get dead, but that wasn't the point.

"Of course not, it greatly decreases one's chance of survival." Tyr released him. "But the terms are acceptable."

He moved away from the gap, and Harper scooted closer, watching until Tyr was leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at him with no little amusement.

"Well?"

"Oh, fine." Harper wriggled back out from underneath the machinery and stood up.

Tyr bowed slightly, making an expansive gesture towards the door. It was closer to Harper than to him and at first glance it looked like Harper would be able to make it if he made a mad dash, but Tyr had height and speed on his side and Harper was pretty damn good at physics.

On the other hand... He leaned back against the machinery, mimicking Tyr's posture. By his estimate he had about a one in three chance of picking correctly, two out of three if he could get a look before he got going. And he wasn't a Nietzschean; he'd accept merely 'good' odds any day. "This is completely and totally ridiculous, you know. Even you couldn't stop me from getting to my shriller right now." Or the blaster on his hip, not that he was bringing that up.

"If I thought you were inclined to use it, I would have removed it from your person before. Since you haven't used it the point is moot."

"The point is not moot, if you weren't you I would have used it already."

"If I wasn't me I would have simply broken your wrist earlier. Or worse."

"Would not because I would have used it first."

"Would so because I wouldn't have simply dragged you to the gym."

"At least you're admitting you dragged me here."

"I don't recall ever denying it."

"Yeah, well, this is still stupid. I'm not a..." Harper trailed off, waving his hand around. All the while making very sure not to take his eyes off Tyr for more than the instant that he needed to. There was no chance that he wasn't looking for an opening himself given how much he hated losing at anything, and he really was fast. "I'm not a gym person."

"That is not a term."

"Is so. Come on, if you stop being ridiculous I swear I'll build you the best sparring bot ever."

"I am not the one that needs the practice, and I already told you, no androids."

"Not an _android_ , a bot." He was pretty well done with androids, himself thanks. "And what do you mean, 'needs the practice,' anyway? My whole life has been practice."

"You were caught when the ship was boarded."

"That's…." What it was was entirely true, unfortunately, although if he'd had a little more time to prepare or knew the ship a little better it might not have been. At least his leg was mostly cooperating again. "That's not the point," he decided.

Tyr looked skeptical. And relaxed just marginally.

Harper didn't wait for a second opportunity, flinging himself not towards the door but upwards, scrambling up the side of the machinery and towards ceiling panels. If he was wrong he'd bounce off plasti-steel grating and Tyr would be on him before he had time to recover, but it was the best chance he had.

Tyr swore, and Harper shouldered the panel next to the lights aside and pulled himself up into it, and as he'd hoped he found the conduit space just large enough to give him clearance. He didn't dare waste time looking back, from the sounds of things Tyr was at or near the top of the machinery as well and while he wouldn't fit into the ceiling panels, he'd have no trouble dragging Harper back out if he could snag an ankle.

The space wasn't large, barely enough to belly-crawl even for him, but as he'd expected it extended well past the wall of the gym and over whatever the next set of rooms were. He was half-tempted to make the argument that he was out of the room as soon as he was out of Tyr's reach and had therefore won the bet, but he had a feeling that Tyr wouldn't consider 'in the ceiling' to meet the terms of 'out of the gym', and it wouldn't take much for him to find something to stand on that would let him punch open a ceiling panel and drag Harper back down. So along he wriggled until he reached a light panel that was definitely beyond the gym walls. He moved on to the next ceiling panel and pried it open to let himself back down into the ship proper, only to find Tyr staring up at him.

"Hey, go away. I won fair and square."

"You did not. I specified the door."

" _You_ did, yep. But _I_ just said 'out of the room' and then you said 'yes' so I win."

Tyr opened his mouth and then paused. "Remind me again why I don't beat you within an inch of your life?"

Harper made a face at him. "Can we go have breakfast now?"

* * *

Harper yelped and squirmed, but Tyr had no intention of releasing the grip on his collar. The little man was irritatingly wily. And clearly not in any actual distress as he switched from unintelligible complaints to explaining why Tyr's whole plan was a bad one and why there was zero need for him to learn anything new in the realm of self-defense in between breaths. Which was, of course, as absurd now as it had been the first time that Tyr had brought him to the gym, and the only vaguely reasonable part of the whole thing was that he never stopped trying to twist out of Tyr's grip.

"Professor—"

Harper threw up his hands and _dropped_ , and Tyr swore as he found himself with a handful of cloth and a distinct lack of human. And to add insult to injury, Harper kicked him in the back of the knee as he scuttled away. Not as hard as he could have, but enough to make a point, and Tyr swiveled on his other leg and lunged. If Harper got away, and 'away' in Harper's case just meant into one of the wide variety of nooks and crannies that Tyr had barely even realized that his ship had before they'd begun these exercises, he'd hole up and refuse to come out until Tyr promised something ridiculous. Or made a meal.

Tyr's arm found Harper's waist before he could reach the door, though, and Tyr flipped them to take the impact of the floor against his back. Harper's ribs might have survived if he'd hit first, but they might not have, and Tyr had no intention of breaking bones. They would give Harper far too good an excuse to avoid any more sparring—or running away in a variety of clever ways which was very much Harper's preference—and Tyr had found their morning matches more interesting than he'd first thought he would.

This time Harper was the one who cursed as he bounced off Tyr's chest, but he wasn't able to do much besides curse since Tyr had no intention of letting him slip away again. "That is so not fair," he finally said, looking over his shoulder at Tyr.

"Surely you are not making the argument that life ever is."

"No, just a complaint about the state of the universe in general. Chapter 7, paragraph 4, line 1." He twisted again, but it was obvious that he knew that he was trapped because he stopped as soon as Tyr pushed himself to his feet and brought Harper up with him. "Can I just point out again that—"

An alarm chimed, and Tyr frowned. It was a personal alarm rather than proximity or attack or anything of that sort, but he didn't recall setting one. And from the way that Harper was looking around he hadn't done it either. "If I release you, are you going to run?"

Harper looked up at him. "No, of course not. Never. Would I do that?"

Tyr couldn't help a chuckle. It had been foolish to ask the question. Especially since Harper could well have set the alarm and was pretending otherwise just to distract Tyr. It wasn't a tactic that he'd tried yet, but with Harper 'yet' was very much the operative word when it came to underhanded tricks. Fortunately Harper wasn't heavy and it only took about three steps to reach an access panel and a few taps to bring up the information behind the alert. "Ah."

"Ah, what?" Harper asked, twisting again.

This time Tyr released him. "I must be on Abraxis by tomorrow in order to begin my next job." He had set the alarm, but it had been days ago when he'd had the expectation that he would be able to quickly track down whoever had planted that bug on his ship and hadn't wanted to forget about his next job while he was dealing with them. And clearly he had lost track of time, albeit for a different reason.

"Oh." Harper grabbed his over-shirt off the floor and shrugged it back on. "Guess we better go have some breakfast, then. I've got most everything on the 'really bad idea' list in progress with parts all sorted, and from what you said about the length of the job it shouldn't be any trouble to finish by the time you're ready to leave."

"Good." Tyr was already aware of that, of course, since after he gave up attempting to teach Harper basic self-defense in the mornings he generally spent the majority of the rest of the day helping with whatever needed to be done, but he appreciated the confirmation. Although…. He hesitated as they reached the kitchen. "You needn't—"

"Needn't what?" Harper asked as Tyr cut himself off, bypassing any breakfast ingredients and heading for the plates. As Tyr preferred since he still didn't know how Harper managed some of the messes hat he did in the kitchen. At least with near-unbreakable flatware there were limits.

Tyr hadn't in any way thought through the idea that had crossed his mind when Harper had mentioned him leaving, but upon quick reflection there was no reason not to make the offer. He still needed an engineer to finish the retrofits that Harper had identified as necessary if not immediately critical. Harper was as good as he was going to find; certainly better than any that he was capable of vetting personally. And Harper would be able to keep the ship in top condition which was critical for some of Tyr's jobs.

True, some of those who hired him, particularly other Nietzscheans, might look at him askance for his choice of crew, but he made his decisions to maximize the benefit to himself not to them. Unlike someone they _would_ approve of, meaning another Nietzschean, Harper would never attempt to challenge for dominance. Tyr's time trying to unite the prides had given him more than his fill of that behavior, and despite the fact that it was a completely appropriate thing for any Nietzschean who wanted to prove himself to do, it was something he'd been relieved to be done with once he was on his own again. Maybe if he'd spent his early adulthood with a pride his tolerance levels might have been different, but that constant pushing was one of the reasons that he hadn't attempted to bring on any other crew members before this. With Harper, as long as he had projects to keep him occupied—and when Harper didn't have projects he went and invented some—he was perfectly content.

Keeping Harper around meant that no one would have the opportunity to ask him any questions about what he might know about Tyr or Tamerlane either.

And he was tolerable enough company, all things considered.

"Tyr?" Harper asked, looking up at him. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Tyr retrieved the breakfast supplies and turned on the stove. "No, I was simply thinking that if Abraxis does not suit you, you could always remain on board."

"What?"

He kept his eyes on the food in front of him. "Your list has a number of less critical repairs to complete. As I recall you thought that they would keep you busy for months if not longer. Not to mention that thing in my smugglers' bay that you keep lying about diagramming and whatever else I'm sure you'll unearth to keep yourself busy."

"I haven't been lying, I've been creatively redirecting. And I told you, that was impressive engineering once upon a time."

"Mmm." He didn't try to keep the skepticism out of his tone. "Regardless, I suppose you're as good as anyone else I could find to get the jobs completed, and it would not be such a bad thing to have an engineer on board."

"I thought we went over this? I am the best. But if you're working with Nietzscheans, they're not going to be happy to see me. Especially if they figure out who I am. I mean, on some random drift it's not a big risk as long as I just use my last name, but both of us together…."

The humor had disappeared from his voice well before he'd trailed off, and Tyr turned back towards him. "They will deal with it. And they will not touch you." He'd make that clear if Harper couldn't, and it was a legitimate concern. Tyr's previous thoughts had centered more upon the impact of having a human on board, but having a human who'd participated in the war did put things in a slightly different light. Then again, the fact that Harper was human and less than likely to get a second glance by any Nietzschean who hired Tyr would work in their favor in this, as was the fact that his name—or the name that he regularly used, as he'd noted—wasn't particularly uncommon. And perhaps that was why the news that Harper was no longer with Andromeda's crew hadn't been widely, if at all, spread. It was safer that way, and Harper would recognize that even if it never even occurred to Dylan. "It is known that I didn't leave Andromeda under the best of circumstances, and this is my ship."

Harper nodded slightly. "You know I'll never call you boss."

"I wouldn't expect you to." Harper had been born on a Nietzschean slave planet, and on a personal level some things would never be acceptable to him no matter how willing he might be to follow Tyr's orders most of the time. Tyr could understand that. "It's of no matter. I'd likely find myself looking for Captains Valentine or Hunt if you did."

Harper nodded again and started to say something, but then his eyes darkened a little, his stare going distant as he hooked his teeth on his lip.

"Professor?" Tyr prompted.

For a moment he continued to stare at the wall, but then he shook his head and returned his gaze to Tyr, a quick grin dispersing most of the sudden darkness. "Never mind. I don't even want to think how many relatives I have that would die all over again of shock and horror if they weren't already dead, but sure, I'll stay. At least for a while. You're right about plenty to keep my busy here, and I'm not exactly fond of shop-keeping anyway. And we still don't know anything about whoever planted that bug on your ship or where your files went or if the two are even related."

Facts that Tyr was painfully well aware of. He'd spent more than one evening brainstorming ways that he could find information, but so far he had nothing that didn't involve tracking down one of those contacts that had somehow disappeared. Nor had Harper been able to offer many suggestions, although he was a willing enough sounding board.

"Given that I am sticking around, are you sure you don't want me to rip through your encrypted files and at least check that half of things?" Harper continued.

He'd made the suggestion before and Tyr had declined despite finding the idea more than a little tempting. Not only would it be good to know how quickly the encryption could be defeated, Harper had fresh eyes and might see something that gave a clue as to Tamerlane's location that Tyr had missed. That had been when he'd been planning to leave, though, and Tyr hadn't wanted to him to know any more than he already did. Given that he would be staying…Tyr found himself nodding slightly. Any reference to genetics would likely be completely missed, it wasn't the sort of thing that a human would think to concern himself with, but _that_ he'd reviewed extremely thoroughly himself and neither he nor Olma had said anything about it even obliquely. It was the possibility of someone finding Tamerlane that concerned him most.

"Good. I'll take a look after breakfast."

"You really think you can break into them that quickly?"

"You really need me to tell you again how good I am again?"


	12. Jobs

_Thanks to everyone who read and to Aileil for reviewing._

* * *

The bones of the XR-6 were starting to show through, even if Tyr would probably argue the point, and Harper took another look around the bay. Someone had gotten the frame in here intact, which meant that there had to be a way to get it out, but damned if he was seeing it. Tyr would be legitimately annoyed if he got back to find that Harper had cut a giant hole in the ceiling of the main bay, not least because it would make the existence of the smugglers' bay obvious, but the only other option seemed to be cutting it open to space. Which wasn't any less obvious and had the additional downside of causing the rest of the items in the bay, at least a few of which had to be of some value, to be sucked out into space. There weren't any grav generators in here like there were in the big bay to keep it from happening, and those were beyond his capability to build from the scrap Tyr had onboard.

Aside from minor considerations like the eventual the usability of the little ship, it would be a lot easier for him to work on it if he could get it down into the big bay, though. Tyr had cargo incoming in a few days, but Harper had looked at the manifest for that as well as the manifests for the last half-dozen times Tyr had moved cargo—if Tyr cared he would have done more to hide the records; he hadn't so he didn't—and there would be plenty of room for everything. Assuming that he could get the damn thing down there.

Harper frowned, turning in a slow circle. He'd found a second hatch before. He hadn't seen any sign of a third yet in his forays through the random piles of whatever up here, but unless they'd literally built the bay around the thing there had to be one.

Maybe there was a third and larger hatch but despite his previous thoughts it did open to space?

He dropped to a crouch and looked up at the ceiling. It would be a little weird and potentially more than a little inconvenient, but any smuggler with sense strapped their cargo down so it couldn't make just the wrong noise at just the wrong time so having to expose it to space on occasion without grav generation might not have been as much of an issue as it seemed at first glance. And Tyr had told him that the last owner had been the non-smuggler, so maybe the last time the bay had been opened was when they'd moved the XR-6 in and he'd been building up the other crap ever since. It made things inconvenient for Harper, but at least it made marginally logical sense. The spools of wire he'd already pulled down were probably the next largest things up here, and they had fit through the ceiling hatch albeit not without a few kicks on Harper's end.

He shook his head and gave up his surveillance of the ceiling. Temporarily, at least. The XR-6 was one of his side projects anyway, and his primary plans for today involved finishing the rewiring of the engine room and then getting started on command.

And hopefully Tyr would be back soon. He'd said before he left that the security detail for the princess generally ran for seven to ten days and that he didn't expect to be able to get back to the ship more than a few times in that timeframe, but it had been eight days and Harper hadn't seen him once. Aside from a few terse messages that he was busy and one set of supplies or another was incoming he hadn't even heard from Tyr.

Harper would have worried that things had gone south somewhere along the line, but he'd been keeping an eye on station feeds out of habit, and while Princess whoever and her retinue had popped up occasionally, it was always in conjunction with some kind of trade agreement or whatever. Nothing even vaguely interesting. Once or twice he'd caught sight of Tyr glowering in the background, perfectly fine and probably perfectly bored. Just dealing with a busier schedule than he'd been expecting, apparently.

It had been easy enough for Harper to handle the arriving supplies, at least. They'd come earlier in the day than he'd have chosen personally, but he'd done that kind of thing often enough for Beka, and the one delivery person who'd been reluctant to release supplies to him rather than to Tyr had been confused into cooperating without too much hassle. And then he'd ended up going out and acquiring a few things of his own, partly because he wasn't nearly as good at Tyr at turning ingredients into anything resembling actual food, and partly because Tyr's shopping list had included neither Sparky nor any kind of alcohol. Since Tyr had transferred the previously-agreed upon funds to his account, he'd fixed both omissions and then added a few more things that he'd never gotten around to reacquiring after Seefra.

He'd gotten his hands on a few basics that Tyr was missing in engineering too, but those had been put on the ship's account. Tyr wasn't likely to argue with him about engineering needs, and it wasn't as if the costs had been particularly high for what he'd found. Way too many people insisted on completely replacing things as soon as they broke rather than looking at what was actually wrong and making a simple repair, and when the first thing he'd found that needed repair was a fab unit...well, it was pretty obvious how that paid for itself.

Repairing the fab unit was actually number two on his priority list, and Harper slid down the ladder and then headed back to engineering and the wiring he was rerouting to make his life easier. Major conduits up high in the ceiling and walls, great. Access panels up that high, pain in the butt. As long as he was going to be staying on Tyr's ship, he was going to fix engineering up the way he liked. Tyr would laugh at him when he noticed, but he wouldn't actually care.

Part of him, a small part, but hard to ignore all the same, was still screaming that he was crazy for agreeing to stay here. It was Tyr, sure, and he and Harper got along pretty well all things considered, but in the end Tyr was a Nietzschean and no kludge with sense willingly worked for a Nietzschean.

Then again, kludges didn't usually get a choice. At least not those born on slave worlds. They did as they were ordered or they were beaten. Or worse. A short trip had been one thing, Harper had needed to way off that station and Tyr had been the only immediately viable option, but long term...

He shook himself. Tyr was Tyr. He'd never hesitated to make his opinion on slavery known, and however another Nietzschean might behave, Harper was damn sure that Tyr would never treat him like that. Or let anyone else, although as with any Nietzschean you had to keep your eyes open because he'd absolutely stab someone in the back if the calculation came out that that was best for him. Still, of all the people to stab in the back your engineer was a pretty stupid choice, and Tyr wasn't a stupid man.

Sure, he might get a little harsh sometimes—back on Andromeda Harper had been on the receiving end of more than a few rough shakes and sharp tugs to his hair, especially when things got tense, and from what Harper had seen Tyr hadn't changed that much in the intervening years—but considering the strength differential between them Tyr was usually downright gentle. Even when he caught Harper in one of their morning matches, which happened at least two-thirds of the time since he was bigger and faster and stronger and there were only so many tricks that Harper could come up with in a twenty-four hour period and still get any actual work done, the worst Harper had to contend with was light drumming against his sides until he was yelping and squirming. And some of the joint and pressure-point focused attacks Tyr was showing him might actually come in handy someday since they relied on speed and accuracy rather than any kind of overwhelming strength. Not that Harper would ever admit that out loud. He still thought that the whole idea was mostly lunacy and he was always perfectly happy to hide in some out of the way location until Tyr gave up.

With another shake of his head, he told the annoying screaming voice to can it and got back to work. The idea of being out in space on a ship again made him happy, and Tyr was Tyr and his friend whatever Tyr might have to say about it. The rest he'd just keep shoving down until old instincts shut up.

The big wall panels were a little tricky to move on his own, but it wasn't anything he hadn't done before, and at least he was getting a good idea of how this ship was wired in the process. When he finished with engineering he took a quick break for a Sparky and whatever was in the ready-meal he grabbed and then moved on to command. There was less work to do there but more complicated routing, and he'd probably still be working on it through tomorrow.

An alarm chimed as he was deciding where the best place to run the secondary power through was, and it took Harper a minute to recognize it as the one he'd put on the main hatch. After last time he wasn't taking any chances, but a quick glance at the screen told him that it was finally Tyr, and he swung himself down out of the ceiling.

"Hey," he greeted as he reached the entrance. "You'll be happy to hear that I increased the efficiency of your kitchen appliances by three hundred percent."

Tyr turned to look at him, and Harper's amusement faded immediately.

"What happened to you?!" Nietzscheans had increased stamina on top of everything else, and Harper wasn't sure that he'd ever seen one look as exhausted as Tyr did right now.

Tyr shook his head and held out his primary gun, and Harper took it and looped it over one shoulder. He took the secondary as well, but given the weight of the magazines that was about all he could handle, and he trailed Tyr to his quarters.

Tyr still hadn't said anything, and Harper checked the safeties and then put both guns on the side table and looked up at him. "Seriously, Tyr, you look like crap. What happened?" There was no sign that any of the guns had been fired, nothing on Tyr's body armor to indicate that he'd been in a fight—then again, it was Tyr, so there might not be any sign—but….

Tyr _dropped_ the other weapons onto the table and Harper winced as he fumbled trying to release the shoulder straps of the chest plate he was wearing.

"Here." He reached up, and Tyr sighed and let his hand fall from the catch.

It only took a moment to help Tyr get the armor off, and then Tyr finally focused on him, cuffing him away gently. "Apparently stims have become popular among the princess' lot, to the point where she's decided that it's more efficient to sleep one or two days out of every twenty than get actual reasonable rest. None of those days coincided with her visit here."

"Well, there's a good way to go insane." It explained why Tyr looked like death warmed over, though. Harper couldn't think of too many circumstances where Tyr might considered taking a stim shot, boring bodyguard duty definitely _not_ making that list, but he wouldn't accept doing less than his best on a job, either.

"As evidenced by the fact that they've continued the practice." Tyr shook his head and then actually wavered in place. "I need to sleep."

"So sleep." Harper waved a hand in the general direction of the bed. "You still have a couple days before anyone shows up with cargo to load, and I don't need any help with what I've got going." He started to step back towards the door before pausing. "You want something to eat? I've got some ready-meals that'll only take a minute or two." Tyr would probably complain about them, but Nietzscheans could eat practically anything.

"No, I was able to eat on a semi-regular basis, at least." He stepped towards the bed and then twisted and looked back at Harper. "If you did anything to my kitchen, you'd best undo it before I wake up."

Harper hadn't, actually, although he definitely could. He settled for a smirk and then got out of there before Tyr decided to throw something. Exhaustion was more likely to reflect in his forgetting that Harper was more breakable than he was than he was than in his accuracy.

* * *

Tyr blinked and sat up with a groan. A glance at the chronometer told him that he'd slept over fifteen hours—or at least it had been over fifteen hours since he'd left the princess' company, he hadn't bothered to check the chronometer before collapsing face-first in his bunk—and he was still tired. Ridiculous.

He threw himself back down on his back, staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes and debating whether or not he should go back to sleep. Unfortunately, aside from the fact that it had been almost nine days since he'd seen his ship and he felt the distinct need to walk its corridors and ensure that everything was as it should be, he was also hungry and badly in need of a shower. He sighed and rolled to his feet.

That was the last time he'd be serving as part of Princess Regor's retinue if they didn't cease their insane use of stimulants because while he had no intention of putting any of that swill in his body, he could only sustain so many sleepless days and nights and maintain any acceptable level of alertness. He had no idea how she and the rest of her retinue had managed it even with stimulants, especially given her advanced age and to his knowledge very little in the way of genetic engineering.

He'd managed to snatch a few minutes of sleep here and there on the occasions when she needed to handle something personal, but nothing like what any reasonable person required. Especially since he'd had to shower, change, put his discarded clothes through the fresher, and eat in those short stretches as well since he couldn't do any of those things while on duty. Towards the end he'd been downing protein bars and skipping the showers entirely in the interests of maximizing those minutes—it wasn't as if he was exerting himself in any way, he'd had to remain vigilant but in the end no one had offered so much as a minor threat—but even that had been barely enough to keep him on his feet.

It was just as well that nothing had happened, especially in the last two days, because he wasn't entirely sure that he'd have been able to refrain from shooting the princess in any potential mayhem. Just on principle. He'd have dealt with any attackers first, of course, but the idea of _anything_ that allowed him sleep had been getting more tempting by the second. He was just glad that the duty had ended in eight days rather than the potential ten her schedule had indicated because he'd never have been able to take another forty-eight hours.

While it was early in the day it wasn't unreasonably so, and as much as he knew that he should go to the gym since he hadn't been able to do that at all during his time with the princess, he skipped any sort of workout in favor of an absurdly long shower and a truly clean set of clothes before storing his weapons and armor properly on their hooks. Under normal circumstances he'd never have gone to sleep with them strewn about so, but last night had been anything but. If Harper hadn't been here, it was entirely possible that he'd have gone to sleep in the body armor and never mind that that would normally be so uncomfortable that he wouldn't have slept at all.

After he was done putting his things back where they belonged, he headed for the kitchen and whatever horrible things the little professor might have done to it. It looked fine at first glance; in fact it seemed that Harper had even unpacked new supplies. Some of which Tyr had ordered, some of which he hadn't...frankly those instant meals bore only the most superficial resemblance to nutrition even for a Nietzschean, and he had no idea how Harper could stomach them.

He pulled out real breakfast supplies and then turned back down the corridor to see if Harper was awake yet. He was fairly certain that Harper wouldn't actually have done anything to his appliances, but he didn't particularly want to find out that he was wrong as he attempted to cook the first full meal he'd had in days, either.

Harper's door wasn't locked, in fact it opened without so much as a chime when he waved a hand at the panel, but Harper was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't slept in his quarters at all this night, and possibly not for the past several nights if the random bits of electronics scattered across the bed were any indication.

Tyr shook his head and headed for engineering. Harper's penchant for curling up in the nearest available nook or cranny when he was done working for the day hadn't abated—more than once he'd used it to give himself a head start in their morning not-quite-sparring-matches, in fact—and it was the most likely place to find him. There was no sign of Harper there, though, and the smugglers' bay was quiet as well even if the little ship the professor was so enamored of bore signs of more work having been done in Tyr's absence. From the design he could see emerging it was going to be fast, and Tyr made a mental note to probe Harper for more details the next time he caught him working on it.

Tyr was about to query the computer for where exactly Harper might be when he heard a low heartbeat as he passed by command. He hadn't seen Harper when he'd glanced in before, and clearly his lack of sleep had made him neglect his other senses if he was only hearing him now, but it only took a minute to realize that he hadn't seen Harper at first because Harper was curled underneath the pilot's seat. Tyr crouched beside his head. "I do not understand you, little man." If Harper hadn't cared to return to his quarters to sleep, surely the padded seat would have provided a bit more comfort. It wasn't as if Harper wouldn't fit.

Tyr did a quick check to make sure that he was well clear of Harper's legs—Harper tended to come up kicking at the best of times—and then gave his shoulder a quick shake with one hand while flattening both of Harper's hands to the floor with the other so he couldn't grab whatever his current choice of weapon was. And then caught Harper's hair tugged lightly as Harper lunged forward. "No biting!"

"Ow!" Harper blinked hard and then tilted his head back. "Oh. Hey, big guy. Is it morning?"

Tyr shook his head and released him. "Near enough to make no difference. I'm going to attempt breakfast. Did you fix whatever horrible thing that you did to my kitchen?"

"I didn't do anything to it in the first place," Harper confirmed. He pushed himself to a sitting position under the pilot's seat, one hand rubbing at his head. "That wasn't very nice, you know."

"You're lucky that's all you got given that you keep attempting to take chunks out of my person."

"You started it. If you'd just let me grab my blaster and shoot you it wouldn't even come up."

Tyr didn't even bother to dignify that with a response.

"You're making real food?" Harper asked as he scooted out from under the seat. "You have way too many ingredients and not enough real food, you know that?"

Tyr shook his head and then pushed himself to his feet, offering a hand and bringing Harper up with him. "You understand that that doesn't make any sense. Especially when your idea of 'real food' apparently encompasses things that resemble nothing so much as compressed plastiboard with salt on top."

"Does so. And…well, yeah, I guess that is kind of accurate. You can't starve on them, though."

"A resounding recommendation."

Harper jabbed an elbow at Tyr's side and ducked a retaliatory cuff. "At least you look kind of like a person again. Was it really that bad?"

"I feel kind of like a person again," Tyr admitted as they headed for the kitchen. "And unfortunately so. I believe I'll be looking a bit more closely at proposed itineraries after this." It wasn't that he hadn't noted that her itinerary was quite full before he'd joined up with her entourage, he'd just missed the part where 'quite full' actually meant 'around the clock for days unending' full. Probably because no sane person would set such a schedule.

"Smart," Harper said. "If I hadn't seen you glaring at people on the vidscreens every now and then I'd have thought you'd been kidnapped or something."

At least he hadn't appeared to be trying not to fall asleep on whatever vidscreens Harper had caught sight of. Small favors. "You restocked the entire kitchen?" he checked.

"Filled up the cabinets as best I could remember you had them organized before. The rest of it's in the room you were using for food storage. Except my beer. I'm keeping that."

"A vile liquid that I can assure you that I have no interest in." Harper rolled his eyes, and Tyr shoved him into the kitchen ahead of him lightly. "Thank you. Now be useful and chop something."

"That sounds familiar."

Tyr hadn't noticed them in his first survey of the room, further confirmation that he needed more sleep, but his kitchen had acquired several of the rails that Harper used for reaching various things in engineering. He couldn't help a quick chuckle as Harper grabbed a knife and scrambled up a cabinet for a cutting board before taking a couple of the vegetables that Tyr had set out. The little professor made the world work for him, even when it shouldn't.

"What?" Harper asked.

"I assume I should expect to find more of those rails scattered about my ship?"

"Well, you're the one who has a ship built for giants and yells at me when I step on your counters. Anyway, I bet you end up using them for those upper cabinets too."

Tyr scoffed, turning on the stove on and breaking a few eggs into the pan. And then he added a few more because he was hungry and clearly Harper hadn't been eating properly in his absence.

It was good that Harper had been here to accept the new supplies when they'd arrived. He hadn't considered that advantage when Harper had agreed to stay on, but then again he hadn't considered not being able to get back to the ship at all during his assignment, either. Previously it hadn't been an issue to slip out at the end of a sleep cycle to deal with the various items as long as he set up an early enough delivery time with the merchants, and while some of them might have left their goods outside his hatch when he wasn't here to accept them, there was no way that they would have gone unmolested for days on end.

"Have you been off the ship at all?" he asked as he tossed Harper's vegetables in with the eggs. "I assume you must have since I know I didn't order any of those disgusting meal things." And Abraxis was hardly Madras where Harper had made it clear that he had no plans to set foot off the ship, although Tyr was just as glad that he didn't seem to be having second thoughts about staying.

"A couple times," Harper agreed with a nod. "I had to order some Sparky too, since you didn't, and then I needed to find a few new shirts." He tugged on the one he was wearing lightly.

"That one makes it easier to find you in the dark, anyway." It was true, the whorls on Harper's current shirt were an especially violent shade of yellow, but then Harper's idea of fashion sense never had made any sense to him. "And I suppose it was too much to hope that they'd stopped manufacturing your overly-caffeinated sugar water in the past two weeks."

"Hey, Sparky is a food group!"

"Calling something a food group implies that it is in some way food. You see my issue with the designation." He flipped the egg mixture quickly and then raised an eyebrow in Harper's direction. "You know, I don't believe a tongue is required for engineering."

"Hey, be nice. " Harper jabbed a pair of forks in his general direction. "I found you a fab unit."

Tyr looked over at him. "How did you manage that?" He had no doubt that Harper could—and almost certainly had, not that Tyr particularly objected for something like that—hacked his basic ship account, but he didn't keep those kinds of funds liquid.

"Scrapyard. It's not a big one, and it needs a few tweaks, but I'll have it up and running soon enough."

Tyr smiled and shook his head. "Fine, I suppose you can keep the tongue. For now. Give me your plate."


	13. Transport

_Thanks to everyone who read and to Aileil for reviewing._

* * *

"So help me, little man, when I get my hands on you…."

"Kind of what I'm trying to avoid," Harper pointed out, staring down through the nest of tangled wires at Tyr. "Anyway, I don't see why you're blaming _me_. I mean, how do we know that your blue is really my blue?"

Tyr's lips twitched.

Harper tried and mostly failed to keep a triumphant grin off his face. Score one for him. Probably score the morning for him since while technically Tyr could drag him out of here, he couldn't do it without taking a few nasty shocks, and Nietzscheans didn't allow themselves to be injured like that. Certainly not in play matches; it was 'anti-survival' and all of that.

"All right," Tyr said, shaking his head. "All right. You win. This time."

Harper swung down carefully through the opening in the wires barely wide enough to admit even him, kicking Tyr's arm lightly before he let himself drop to the floor. "Course I did. I am a genius."

"So you keep saying."

Tyr turned towards the door, one hand curling around the back of Harper's neck and tugging him along. Not that Harper needed the encouragement. They hadn't had breakfast yet.

"Do you plan to be in attendance when the cargo arrives?" Tyr asked.

"Is there a reason I'd want to be?"

"Likely more that you would not, but I assumed that you had hacked the manifest at some point and had a preference."

"Hacked, yes," Harper admitted, "but I was mostly checking space requirements." Nothing too big was incoming; it ran more along the lines of trunks or something like that. Nothing that would interfere with his racer, as soon as he figured out how to get the damn thing into the main bay. Which he still needed to talk to Tyr about.

Tyr tilted his head and then apparently decided that it didn't matter. "The Randang and Dire prides recently reached an agreement of joining, part of which requires the transfer of certain ceremonial jewelry and antiques between the Alpha families."

"And on that note I'll just spend the day hanging out with the fab unit and playing with those new toys you were asking me for." 'Prides' was a bad word as far as he was concerned, and if there were Nietzscheans in the cargo bay there was no way that he could get anything useful done on the XR-6. Stupid Uber—Nietzschean—hearing. "Are any of them coming along as guards or whatever?" He didn't really want to be stuck in hiding, be it in engineering or anywhere else, for the whole trip, but he wasn't sure that he wanted direct interaction with any Nietzscheans who weren't Tyr just yet either. He wouldn't be able to avoid it forever, but a little longer suited him just fine.

"That was specifically vetoed as part of the treaty. Three from each pride will accompany the goods into the cargo bay and ensure that all crates are properly sealed and stored with appropriate monitoring and protections against tampering, and then three others from each pride will retrieve them upon our arrival at Kartik. Where you will most likely wish to remain onboard the ship, so if there are any other items that you would like to acquire in the near future I suggest that you do so before we leave tomorrow."

Tyr wasn't stupid enough to come right out and order him to remain on the ship, but if he said that Harper would want to, he probably had a good reason for it. "Good to know. Think I've got most everything I need, though." There was definitely nothing else that he needed personally and nothing critical for engineering; he'd have time to sort out what else he might _like_ for engineering as time went on. "Do you have work on station, or is this just a transport job?"

"As of now transport only, but I have some contacts there that I'd like to speak to. Since the next scheduled job is on Rhahat twenty days after our arrival at Karthik, I wouldn't object to picking up something to pass the time."

Harper was perfectly happy to leave the job-hustling to Tyr—marketing hadn't exactly been his greatest strength when he was running a shop either—but that reminded him of something he'd finished while Tyr was in the middle of his last job. He'd planned to hand it off when Tyr got back to the ship, but as per usual he'd kept getting distracted.

"Where are you going?" Tyr asked as he turned back down the hall.

"Go ahead, I've got to grab something. Be there in a minute."

Tyr dipped his head and moved along, and Harper ducked into his quarters. Now where had he put it? It was similar to the one he'd made for Tyr back on Andromeda, with a few more additions, and one of the features was that it wasn't overly large. Which, of course, made it tricky to find when he couldn't remember where he'd set it down when he'd fin—ah. He should probably clean his bed off so he could actually use it at some point.

Tyr was mixing up something on the stove when he got to the galley, and he went to set the plates on the counter.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yep. Catch." One of Tyr's hands came free, and Harper flipped it to him.

Tyr caught it and rolled it in his palm. "I have one of these."

"You have one like that," Harper corrected, a little surprised that Tyr had kept the other one. Then again, it played Wagner and to a limited extent could deflect energy weapons, both things that Tyr approved of. "This one's better."

"How?"

"Well, for one it's got a communicator built in." If Tyr thought he wouldn't want to go wandering around on Karthik Harper was willing to stay onboard the ship, but they'd already had problems once when they couldn't get in touch with each other. Harper had no plans to get caught hiding under a bed again, thanks very much.

"Ah. Right."

"Plus I upped the energy deflection capability, and if you squeeze it and tell it to go grenade in some number of seconds, it'll explode on the count."

"Mm." He tucked it into his vest.

Harper rolled his eyes. It figured that the exploding part would make Tyr happy.

"Music?" Tyr asked as he took the pot off the stove and moved it to the counter.

"I loaded the same music as before. Mostly, anyway. I thought about putting something _good_ on, too, but…." He waved a hand.

"As I recall, your music is only 'good' in the sense that it could conceivably be used to force sleep deprivation upon your enemies."

Harper made a face at him and then jabbed a fork into the pot and snagged a couple chunks of whatever. "You're lucky that I _like_ making toys."

"True," Tyr agreed. He took a seat and served himself when Harper finished. "When do you think you'll have the other prototype—prototypes?—ready to test?"

"Given that we're talking bullets it'll be prototypes plural, but figure another day or two minimum and that's assuming you're good with doing the testing yourself." There was no such thing as too much payload as far as Tyr was concerned, and the schematics he'd given to Harper reflected that. If Harper tried to fire something that heavy without some serious bracing it'd rip him in half. Possibly literally depending on which bones went first. Sizing down was possible but it would add another week at least. "I'm not sure where you can do the testing, though, now that I think about it. I'm guessing they wouldn't appreciate you using their crates for target practice, and these aren't something you're going to want to be using anywhere near the hull."

"I've a firing lane that should serve, but you can judge the structural integrity for yourself. And yes, I will do the initial tests."

Harper nodded although he couldn't help wondering where this firing lane was. He thought he'd been all over this ship by this point, and he still couldn't come up with a likely candidate.

He wasn't sure where Tyr had gotten the bullet schematics either. It was possible that he'd designed them himself, Tyr might not be in his league engineering-wise but he was no dummy when it came to the technical stuff either, particularly when it involved weapons. Hell, if Harper needed something like a Gauss rifle stripped down he'd probably just hand it to Tyr and wait thirty seconds. But given what was _missing_ in the schematics...as originally designed the things would have been next to impossible to seat in a magazine, and there was no way Tyr would have missed something like that.

"What?" Tyr asked he finished his plate and took another ladleful.

Harper waved it off. He'd asked where the designs had come from when Tyr had given them to him and Tyr hadn't said anything useful so he wasn't likely to start spilling his guts now. Odds were he'd terrorized them out of some nobody on a drift somewhere. "Any ceremonial antiques or jewelry that are worth taking off their hands? Rango and Dire and whoever? I make a mean counterfeit."

"Randang, and no, keep your hands to yourself with regards to the trunks. You wouldn't enjoy tripping the protections that will be involved."

Once upon a time Harper would have taken that as a challenge, but these days he was more willing to let things go. Especially since he did have other work to keep him busy. "Show me where the firing lane is after they go away?"

* * *

Tyr wouldn't have admitted it, but it was a relief when the representatives of the prides in question finally took their leave of his ship. The mutual antagonism between said representatives he could deal with—it was expected, really despite what this treaty was supposed to mean—but their casual disrespect towards himself, the idea that he was somehow _beneath_ them...

He felt his lip curl and shook his head and went in search of Harper. There had been reason to keep a somewhat low profile during his initial attempt to unite the Nietzschean people, especially since he'd expected a full reveal after the fall of the new Commonwealth to be far more impactful, but neither Randang nor Dire had been important enough to rate inclusion in those initial meetings so as far as every single one of them were concerned he was nothing more than a prideless mercenary and their attitudes reflected that. Whether the new bullets were ready or not, target practice would be excellent stress relief. That or he'd go to the gym and destroy a punching bag or two.

He heard Harper before he saw him, the little professor competing with the speakers for who could make the most horrible noise. Apparently Harper had taken the comments about his music as a suggestion. "Cease that infernal racket before station security levies a fine for disturbing the peace!" he barked.

Half of the racket stopped and Harper popped up on the other side of the fabrication unit. "Once again, I know what you listen to, and you have no business talking.'"

"Opera is an art form."

"So's Than vomit if you talk to the right dealer." Harper waved a hand and the rest of the noise mercifully cut off. "Are they gone?"

"They are."

"Good. You look pissed. Were they that annoying?"

"An understatement."

"Great. Well, your bullets still aren't ready. Figure tomorrow at best; I've got another set of calculations running now, but I want to take a look at your firing lane because these things are going to kick like hell. Both back at you and at whatever you hit."

"Hm." Not good news, but for today he had plenty of standard bullets. They would serve.

"Seriously, Tyr, like wear _body armor_ kind of kick," Harper said, amusement disappearing. "Even you. I'd almost swear they were designed for a Vedran if only because not a lot of other species have the body mass to pull something like that off."

Tyr kept his mouth shut, and after a moment Harper's eyes locked on his.

"Do I even want to ask how you got your hands on the schematics for experimental Vedran weaponry?"

"Do you think you'll get an answer?"

"Depends on the subject, but in this case probably if I harass you long enough. The secret was the Vedran part."

Tyr raised an eyebrow, and Harper hopped up onto the fab unit and stuck out his tongue. He could be in the ceiling before Tyr could get to him, and they both knew it. Tyr scoffed and shook his head, relaxing back against the wall. On another day he might have taken Harper up on the invitation, but right now he was too tense to be careful. "I suspect that we were looking for different things in Andromeda's archives. And given some of the security measures," to say nothing of the suspicion he'd frequently been under, "I generally kept my inquiries towards the theoretical."

"Explains the lack of carrying capacity," Harper said, relaxing again himself. "Show me the firing lane?"

There hadn't been any sort of firing lane when Tyr had acquired the ship, and he hadn't—didn't—have the skills to build anything overly complicated, but he'd made a semblance of one along what had once been the far wall of his quarters. Well, his quarters and two others currently serving as storage spaces that ran alongside the hull on this side. Both the new walls and the hull had been reinforced to the highest degree that he could manage with powerful dampers installed at the far end, and the inclusion of that and the double-height ceiling along the bulkhead wall had allowed him to add one more feature that he'd missed since his time on Andromeda. He turned and gestured for Harper to follow.

"You built a firing lane into your quarters?" Harper asked as Tyr waved the panel open. "I mean, I guess I can kind of see it, but there's overkill and then there's _overkill_."

"You know, I don't believe that there's a single airlock on this ship that you won't fit out of," Tyr pointed out. "Of course, you might possibly require a bit of mutilation first..."

Harper made a face at him and then scooted a few steps away before Tyr could do more than raise a hand.

"Get over here and take a look at the lane." He waved the far panel opened and gestured Harper through ahead of him.

"Fine, whatever. Let's see what you've got for shielding." Harper stepped past him and headed for the target frame at the opposite end of the lane.

Tyr could have told him the makeup, but Harper didn't tend to take people at their word very often, especially when it came to engineering. An attitude Tyr completely supported, especially since his safety would depend correct analysis of these new bullets, and he relaxed against the wall as Harper pulled out a device of some sort and began examining the panels. "Well?" he asked as Harper came back to join him again, tapping at his pad.

"I'll put up a couple more layers of blast sheets everywhere and rig a couple generators behind them for force shields. Won't take more than a day and a half, although I'd really rather just rip out a good section of wall and do force shields the whole way down. Probably better for you too since what I'm going to have to do is going to narrow that end some."

"Why don't you do that now, then?"

"Two or three generators are easy, two or three dozen will take me longer and require some part scrounging. Guessing you don't want to wait a week."

"Put it on the list for later," Tyr said. "That wasn't the only theoretical bullet design I found." Just the one he'd been most intrigued by, and given that their next stop was a diplomatic crossroads for five separate prides, he'd like to have something with him that no one had ever seen, just in case. He hadn't been expecting recoil to the point that body armor might be necessary, though.

Actually the time they were stopped at the station might not be a bad time for Harper to do the reinforcement he'd mentioned if he was amenable. It would not be safe for him to leave the ship alone, and the assumptions that were likely to be made if he accompanied Tyr….

"M'kay," Harper said, back to tapping at the pad, and Tyr decided to let the last go unsaid unless Harper actually wanted to leave the ship. It was unlikely that he would; he was intelligent enough to take a hint, and Tyr was perfectly willing to acquire whatever parts he required.

"Come. You'll like this," he said when it looked like Harper was done, catching the ladder behind the firing point and pulling himself upwards

"Like what?"

Since Harper was following him up the narrow ladder he didn't bother to answer. The Observation Deck on Andromeda wasn't the sort of thing that most ships replicated in this time, not even ships of the line never mind little couriers like this one, but this one had had a small stretch of bulkhead mostly shielded by the engine struts, and he'd had the money—or, rather, he'd had trade goods he'd needed to offload quickly and no desire to have funds linked back to that particular sale lying around—so he'd put in screens to space. It wasn't perfect, but it was...peaceful. If tiny, running only the length of the firing lane and marginally narrower as the bulkheads curved inward overhead.

"Oh, nice." Harper hopped over the hole they'd come through and joined him in front of the low benches along the wall. "How did I not find this?"

"Presumably you haven't started drilling through _all_ of my walls."

"Eh, just the majority. I mean, I wouldn't go into your quarters without good reason so I probably wouldn't have found the firing lane, but we've got to be a deck above by now. Your quarter's ceilings might tilt up, but they aren't double-height."

Tyr shook his head and sank down on the bench, leaning back against the wall. He couldn't quite stretch his legs out straight without turning at a slight angle, but as a place to rest and contemplate—not meditate, thank you, he wasn't a priest—it served.

Harper finished poking at the screens and came back and dropped down beside him. "This is nice. You always did like sitting around staring into space." He frowned and then lifted the pad off his belt again, bringing up another schematic.

"And you remain incapable of sitting still."


	14. Kartik

_Thanks to everyone who read and to Aeliel and FDWurth for reviewing._

* * *

"Hm." Harper was pretty sure that he was right about the smugglers' bay opening to space given the wall panel he'd just found. He was also pretty sure that getting the racer out was going to be a major pain in the rear.

The easiest way would be to open the bay up and snag the racer with grapplers as it floated free, but he hated the idea of letting everything else float away as trash, and Tyr wouldn't like it either. Even if ninety-five percent of it _was_ trash, there might still be something like the wire spools worth salvaging in the other five percent, and they'd both lived on the margins long enough to be unhappy with unnecessary waste.

But the other option was to tie down or move everything out of here before opening the bay, and damn but that was going to be a lot of work. The racer might be the biggest thing in the bay, but there was plenty of other crap in general, and there was no way Tyr had that many nets.

Tyr could probably be badgered into helping, at least for a while, but he'd also probably find work on this Kartik—not a pleasant place for humans from what Harper had gathered from the nets—and it wasn't like Harper hadn't worked on a small crew before. Or couldn't do math. Money to keep the ship running trumped what amounted to house cleaning.

There was no point in wasting time, though, as long as he was up here, especially since he had some tweaks he wanted to make before the fab unit churned out another set of Tyr's new bullets, a command post to finish rewiring, and then he was going to steal Tyr's body armor because he hadn't liked how it had shifted when Tyr was testing those bullets. Tyr was too picky to use standard, off-the-rack stuff, but that didn't mean it couldn't use a little reworking.

He shut the wall panel and went back to the entrance hatch of the bay, picking a crate at random and cracking it open. Junk, junk, dust, dust masquerading as junk... He sighed and began to toss the random objects down through the hatch. The stuff they were transporting was far enough from the ladder that it wouldn't get hit with any shrapnel, and he could sweep up the remains after they hit the deck. Trying to carry it down piece by piece would be a whole other level of frustration that he wasn't dealing with.

Unfortunately rather than hearing a crash as the junk hit the deck, he heard a couple dull thumps and a string of curses. Oh. Oops.

Tyr appeared through the hatch a moment later, upper body coated in a sheen of dust.

"Uh, hey, big guy." Harper gave him his biggest grin. "How's it going?"

Tyr glared.

"So I was just starting to do some cleaning, but I think maybe it would be better if I just...went." He'd been backing up as he was speaking, but a low growl was incentive enough to make him turn and scramble. Unfortunately he was so close to the hatch that Tyr was on him before he could use the height of the bay to his advantage, and a grip he couldn't break closed around his ankle and yanked him backwards before he was even fully upright. His stomach hit the deck, and then the same grip flipped him easily onto his back. "You cheat," he complained.

"Of course."

Smug bastard. Not that Harper didn't cheat too, or at least he would given an opportunity, but right now he had more worrying things to deal with. Like the Nietzschean who made two of him crouched over him. "Um...I give!" he declared, curling in on himself quickly. Tyr wasn't likely to actually haul off and hit him—well, okay, not beyond a swat across the back of the head or something like that, and fair was fair considering that he had just dropped a bunch of crap on the guy—but among other things he was ticklish and Tyr wasn't and this was just not a good situation.

Tyr snorted and cuffed him lightly, rocking back on his heels. "You are a menace, professor."

Harper considered for a moment and then uncurled enough to to look up at Tyr and stick his tongue out.

Tyr rolled his eyes. "Would you care to explain _why_ you are pelting me with refuse?"

"I want to get the racer out of here and down somewhere where I can really open it up."

"I'm sure that's true, but I fail to see why it necessitated an assault on my person."

Harper pushed himself into a sitting position and waved a hand back in the general direction of the upper panel. "The bay hatch opens to space, not the main bay below. If I want to get the racer out without losing everything else in here, it's all got to get dealt with." He shrugged. "Throwing is efficient."

Tyr looked around skeptically. "I think you'd be better off cutting the racer apart and lowering it down in pieces than trying to deal with all of this."

"Except for the part where that would destroy the frame which kind of defeats the purpose."

"Mm."

"You know, it occurs to me, you could toss useless junk out of here a lot faster than I can," Harper pointed out.

"I can certainly toss _you_ through the hatch."

"Ah, but then who would fix your ship?"

"I'd ask what you did to break my ship if I hadn't just come from command."

"I am not breaking, I am rewiring. You'll thank me when I'm done."

Tyr looked skeptical, and Harper decided that he'd put off stealing the body armor for the time being. Tyr would probably be grouchy if it wasn't available when they got to the station anyway. "Are were getting close to our next destination?"

"An hour at most, which is why I was looking for you. I've already been contacted by representatives of the two Prides in question who will be standing by to come onboard and receive their goods."

"Are you planning on giving them a tour?"

"I think _not_."

Whatever those first representatives had done to piss Tyr off, he clearly wasn't over it, but at least that meant that Harper would be safe enough working in command while they were completing their transaction. "All right, I'll go do more of that rewiring then. Are you going on-station today?"

"Not unless one of them has a lead on a job. I've sent messages to my contacts here, but I don't expect to hear anything so soon. Most likely I'll pick up supplies tomorrow and make a personal visit with each of them at the same time. Is there anything that you need?"

"Well, my Sparky supply is holding strong—"

Tyr made a noise that Harper chose to interpret as encouragement.

"—but I'll put together a list of what I'd like to fix up your firing range. Like I said before, I can hack some generators together, but if you've got more experimental weaponry you'd be safer with the real thing. I'd rather check the stuff out myself, but this doesn't seem to be a great place for me to go out haggling. Can you find a non-creepy-Nietzschean station to visit next time?"

"You will enjoy Rhahat, I think. If you haven't been there before, it's a planetary orbital and I believe the planet in question is one that participates in that ridiculous life-threatening sport that you enjoy."

Harper might have heard of Rhahat in passing, but he'd definitely never been there before. It would be nice to get back in the water again, even for a little bit. "You're just mad because I'm better at it than you are."

* * *

Tyr gritted his teeth as another wretch cowered away from him in the narrow corridor and debated giving up on the idea of visiting his last two contacts. At least for today. They were both small time operators who arranged transport for those who couldn't or wouldn't wait for the larger passenger ships to come through, and he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to take on a passenger from this station even if they did want to go in the same general direction as he was travelling. He still had two specific components for the generators that Harper wanted him to locate, though, both of which could be found in the general vicinity of those storefronts, and if Harper did finish with command today he'd promised to get the firing lane fixed up next.

Another human carrying a stack of something brushed against him and then cringed away, down a side corridor where a drug trade was happening in full view of anyone who passed by, and Tyr snarled and swiveled back in the direction of his ship. Harper wanted supplies, yes, but those supplies could be ordered and delivered just as easily by remote and he could not deal with any more of this absurdity today.

Slaves and drugs, two things that a true Nietzschean eschewed without a second thought, and yet they'd somehow become intertwined with the functioning of this station. And not just one or two but _five_ Prides used Kartik as a trading hub and participated in both enterprises. Not large Prides, perhaps, but still, full Prides led by a those who should be respected—and self-respecting—Alphas. The kind of people who should put an immediate stop to anything so degrading the second it manifested. The Drago-Kazov example no doubt had something to do with the disgusting behaviors exhibited here, among other things if he recalled his history correctly Anacon Pride was one of their early offshoots, but even so, having it once again thrown in his face how ignorant so many of his people could be as to their true potential was salt in his wounds. And the idea that his son would have to deal with such things if he was to meet his destiny did not make him feel better.

He shook his head and turned out onto a more traveled thoroughfare, picking up speed as he went. He'd expected it to be simpler to find a short-term job here than on Rhahat since access to a sport planet generally meant an abundant workforce and far fewer people willing to speak to an itinerant mercenary, but so far none of the jobs he'd learned of were of the sort that he was willing to consider. No one had been fool enough to mention drugs outright, at least, but he would no more transport that swill as slaves, nor would he stand as bodyguard for a transaction involving either. He would have no drug runner or slav _er_ on board his ship either.

His expression was apparently enough to encourage even other Nietzscheans to get out of his way, and he reached the hatch of his ship unmolested. A crate of supplies sat outside the door, and he entered his passcode with more force than necessary and heaved it inside.

"This place sucks," Harper informed him as soon as the hatch closed behind him. "Here."

Pitching the crate down the hall might have burned off a little tension, but it was more likely to lead to damaged foodstuffs than accomplishing anything useful, and he slapped on the antigravs Harper handed him and didn't comment on Harper's statement. The truth of the matter was, unfortunately, obvious.

"Want to blow something up?" Harper asked, giving the crate a nudge to start it moving.

"Very much so." Right now this station would be an excellent start, but if he said that out loud Harper was likely to try to find a way to do it. Another reason not to allow a slaver onboard his ship; not only would Tyr have to force himself not to kill the worthless waste of oxygen, he'd have to prevent Harper from doing so. Something likely to take far more effort than the absolute zero that he was willing to expend. "You have another round of new bullets ready?"

"Ready and waiting. Still going to kick like hell, though, and don't miss the firing lane target on pain of a new entrance to the station. Any chance the generator parts are on the way?"

"Find an online source and have them delivered."

"Wow. Who made you that mad?"

"The fool openly selling drugs out of his shop who presumed to look down on me when I declined his offer of employment."

Harper's eyes widened. "Okay, so lots of blowing things up. Can do."

Tyr knocked him sideways lightly and felt his lips twitch as Harper shoved—ineffectually—right back. There was probably something wrong with feeling relief at being in the company of a scrawny little kludge rather than his own kind, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care.

This wasn't the first time that he'd come to Kartik, but he didn't recall things having been this bad before. There had been drugs, yes, and slaves, but never out in the open, and he'd never had trouble finding a job that did not involve anything of the sort before. Nor had people been so openly dismissive. Being without a Pride carried a certain stigma, that had always been true, but it had never before been so blatant. Or perhaps it had been, but the contrast with the way it had felt when he'd finally begun to unite the Nietzschean people...

"Uh, Tyr? You okay?"

He realized abruptly that his blades had started to come up and eased them back down again immediately. Harper might be perfectly happy to roughhouse, as absurd as it sounded and even though he still regularly complained about the self-defense lessons, but he didn't deal well with raised bone spurs, and given what Tyr knew about his history he wouldn't ask him to. Especially since absolutely none of what Tyr had encountered on Kartik had anything to do with him.

"If you want to throw heavy objects, you can help me clean more crap out of the smugglers' bay," Harper suggested. "There's a couple trunks that I can't budge, even empty. That's actually why I was digging out the anti-gravs before you go back."

"Perhaps later. Right now some time on the shooting range sounds very, very good. What was included in the latest round of modifications that you made to the bullets?"


	15. Moving Along

_Thanks to everyone who read and to Ailiel for reviewing._

* * *

Irritated Nietzscheans were good for moving heavy objects, anyway.

Tyr had claimed a couple of the heaviest intact trunks for himself once they were emptied; he hadn't been in a mood to chat so Harper had no idea what they were for. Harper had asked him to drop a couple of the more mobile ones in engineering, though, since if Tyr was going to complain about his organizational skills he could help do something about it. Not that Harper planned to say that out loud while Tyr was stomping around glaring. The rest rested mostly in pieces in the bay below. A waste, but no one paid anything for ancient trunks.

As far as the rest of the contents went, both of the bay and the trunks themselves, so far there hadn't been much of interest. There was still a good two thirds of the bay to sort through, but the best finds had been a few more coils of wire and some circuit boards that didn't belong to this ship but could be made usable in one spot or another when they needed spares. The rest of it...between the bits of scrap metal that weren't even worth melting down and a giant pile of mostly-disintegrated bits of what had probably once been blankets or uniforms Harper didn't have a lot of hope for what else might be up here. Space was slowly opening up, though.

Harper shoved another trunk towards the open hatch in the floor and, after a quick check that there was no Tyr below, sent it crashing to the lower deck.

With a quick check of the chronometer, he hooked his ankles around the ladder and began the slide to the floor. The generator parts had arrived just before they'd left, and he'd promised Tyr that he'd get the firing lane fixed up next. The bullets were getting close enough to spec that he wanted it up to real firing range standards before Tyr gave it another go anyway.

He'd done a quick inventory of the parts when they'd arrived and as expected not all of them were what any reasonable person would call acceptable, but between the lot of them were enough working pieces to build what he needed. He hadn't been about to ask Tyr to stay on Kartik any longer, even if Tyr probably would have been willing to terrorize more good parts out of the suppliers just on principle. And part of him kind of hated that they'd been sort-of swindled, but…well, as far as he was concerned, getting the hell off a creepy Nietzschean-controlled station trumped even a good deal. He'd taken the liberty of hiding the fact that he was human from the creeps he'd been haggling with over the net so at least they'd still managed a little less than retail.

He hit the panel outside Tyr's quarters and heard the chime before it opened. "Hey, figure I'll fi—Tyr?" There was no sign of him, but there was also no way that he'd let Harper into his quarters without being there.

"Stand back."

Harper tilted his head back and then did as he said, and Tyr dropped down through the ceiling panels above. "That's new. And I don't think you're allowed to complain any more about me punching holes in your ship."

Tyr ignored him. "There is now a rough entrance to the viewing bay and thus the firing lane from above so you can cease entering through my quarters."

"Oh, nice. You really were in a destructive mood." He'd fix the ceiling later.

Tyr scoffed but didn't deny it. "It is as well to be gone from that place. Degenerates."

Personally Harper thought that they'd seemed like pretty typical Nietzscheans to him, Tyr was the one who was the outlier, but Tyr wouldn't appreciate that opinion.

"Do you need assistance?"

"Sure." Or at least, while he didn't technically need it, he wasn't about to refuse it. "Can you strip the walls bare again? I might want to reuse some of the panels you put up, but definitely not all of them."

Tyr nodded, and Harper started pulling parts out of the crate. There wasn't enough room to assemble all of the generators in the firing lane itself, but Tyr could deal with a few parts spread out across his quarters for an hour or two. Or four.

"My quarters had best not start to resemble yours, professor," Tyr said as he lifted the first panel off the bracers.

Harper tossed one of the bad parts out of the firing lane and in the general direction of Tyr's bed. It was as good a place as any for a discard pile. "Says the guy with an entire wall full of tools for weapons maintenance."

"A neatly organized workbench bears no resemblance to any workspace of yours."

"Hey, I'm organized for efficiency."

"Is that what you call it?"

Harper made a face at him, but since it was just barely possible that he might not win that argument, he moved on to more interesting topics. "Have you got any plans for Rhahat besides looking for work? Any fun in the sun?"

"I don't plan to risk drowning myself for no measurable gain, but I might perhaps spend a few days on the surface."

"You have no sense of adventure. Surfing is an excellent sport." He'd already looked and there were small rentals nicely within his budget—or at least the budget that didn't include immediately needing to rent out shop space—in the floating cities along the tidelines, catering to those who planned to spend their time out on the water. And if he was very lucky, said floating city would have a population of ladies out and about in the evenings also enjoying a nice shore leave. Lack-of-shore leave. Whatever.

"Opinions like that are why you're likely to die young and absurdly."

"Uh, Tyr, I'm from Earth. I'm already a couple years past my expiration date. And that's without recalculating whatever exploding a planet does to the life expectancy of the population. Kind of doubt it makes it go up." The part of his brain that never stopped running started trying to figure out how he'd even do that calculation, and he squashed the idea with a shake of his head. Some things just didn't need to be known.

There was no response from Tyr, and after a moment he lifted his head to find Tyr paused with another wall panel in his hands looking at him strangely.

"What?"

Tyr shook his head and set the panel aside before reaching for the next, only to go rigid at an alarm tone that Harper hadn't heard before ringing through his quarters. "Go."

"Huh?" Harper looked around, hand on his repulsor. No fires, nothing suddenly open to space, no hint of engine trouble—

"Leave."

He twisted back to look at Tyr. "What?"

Tyr took a step towards him. _"_ Out! _Now!"_

* * *

Tyr stared at the frozen image of the little boy on the vidscreen, the child's face half hidden behind a chair. It was the only glimpse he'd gotten of Tamerlane during his conversation with Olma, and it wasn't enough. He was growing so quickly, and yet Tyr saw him so infrequently. When Tyr had first smuggled them to safety and then sent them off on their own, he'd thought that knowing that Tamerlane was alive would be enough. Now…it was certainly better than the alternative, but he'd never considered how painful it would be knowing that his son was growing up without him.

He shook his head and shut the screen off, pushing himself to his feet. He hadn't expected the communication from Olma today, especially since she'd only have just received his dead drop message, but he could understand her reasoning. If there had been anything in those stolen messages to give away Tamerlane's location—and even without knowing what he really was, those who knew of what was now Tyr's genetic makeup meant that they'd happily collect anything Tyr cared about to use against him—the most important thing to do would be to move him elsewhere. And obviously she'd communicate that before rather than after. It would take time to establish themselves and set up new secure channels after their move.

Time. He felt his hands curl into fists. More time without seeing his son; more time without speaking to his son; more time without the chance to be with the boy as he grew.

He shook his head again, harder this time, and then slammed a thumb down against the panel and waited until it indicated that all saved information, both images and audio, had been deleted. As much as he hated doing it, he would not risk a repeat of what had happened on Madras.

He swiveled and headed for the gym. And the punching bags. As much as he wanted to order Harper to get back to work on the firing lane, he was no fit company for anyone right now, and needless paranoia or not, he wasn't comfortable with anyone else in his quarters without being there himself. It probably wouldn't even occur to Harper to do anything but work on the firing lane, but Tyr hadn't survived this long without remaining cautious.

By the time he felt like a person again he was covered in sweat, and one bag lay in pieces while another was going to need to be at minimum recovered. And it was well past the time that they usually ate dinner. Not that he had any inclination to eat, but Harper tended to do horrible things to Tyr's kitchen when left to his own devices, and that was without provocation. Today…Tyr hadn't meant to snarl at him earlier, he'd just wanted him out quickly so he could receive Olma's message before she terminated it, but given the look in Harper's eyes before he'd scrambled up the ladder it hadn't come across that way.

After a quick shower he went looking, but there was no sign of Harper in the kitchen, nor in Command, engineering, or the smugglers' bay. He wasn't in his quarters, either, although Tyr still wasn't sure when Harper did use his quarters. For sleeping was certainly a rare occurrence given that the bed had acquired even more random bits of metal since he'd last been in here.

He sighed and touched his communicator. "Harper?"

"What?" Came back a long moment later, definitely not in the friendliest tone that Tyr had ever heard from him.

"Where are you?"

"Building a door. What did you do, hit the wall with a sledgehammer until it went away?"

It took Tyr a moment to figure out what he was talking about, and then he sighed and returned to the corridor outside his quarters. Where there was a distinct lack of hole in the ceiling. "How do I get to where you are?" He'd done the obvious thing and taken the direct route; clearly Harper had chosen a different method.

"Storage room next to the kitchen. Go up, there's now a normal door. And then a Tyr door through the next bulkhead. You'd have made life a lot easier on yourself if you'd punched through about a foot further down, you know."

Obviously he hadn't known that or he would have done it, but before he could comment Harper continued.

"If you're done yelling and scaring people for no good reason, can you grab me a blowtorch and a couple of fill patches? Everything should be in engineering, and you really did a number on this poor, defenseless bulkhead."

"I—yes." Despite Harper's claims, Tyr found his workspaces anything but organized, but Harper had been correct that there was a blowtorch mixed in with the mixed lot on one of the consoles, and small sheets of metal were stacked haphazardly in one corner. Harper was wiring up a panel when Tyr finally reached him, and Tyr raised an eyebrow at the visible holes around the edges of the roughed in doorframe. "Perhaps I was a bit overly enthusiastic."

Harper shot him a scowl and then returned his eyes to the access panel.

Tyr nudged his arm lightly. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Private call' is three whole syllables, you know," Harper muttered.

That was not an unreasonable point. It was no surprise that Harper had figured out what was going on on his own, or at least had determined the base cause of the alarm, but Tyr could have let him know that there was no threat immediately. "I was not expecting that communication today, but it was very much time critical. That particular alarm is only used for that contact."

Harper twisted and stared at him for a long moment. "Your son?"

Tyr set all but one of the loose patches down and thumbed on the blowtorch. "I'll get started closing these holes or that access panel will serve little purpose."


	16. Staying Stuck

_Thanks to everyone who read and to Guest for reviewing._

* * *

Harper sneezed again and then grimaced, scrubbing at his nose through the dust mask. A lot of good it was doing him, but not using it earlier had led to a ten-minute coughing fit and Tyr pounding on his back hard enough to bounce his lungs off his ribs. Between those two options, the mask was definitely the lesser of two evils.

He'd be glad when they got to Rhahat, though. A few days splashing in the ocean would do a lot to disperse the dust layer he was building up.

Tyr had been helping out some too, but they'd found a trunk of knives after breakfast this morning and he'd taken it down for a closer look at the contents. Harper didn't expect to see him again until he'd finished with his arsenal improvements or something came up. Or maybe lunch. Which reminded him that he needed to take a break himself after lunch and start rigging himself a decent vest for surfing. He'd have no trouble finding a board on-planet, but when it came to life support equipment he preferred to handle things himself.

Tyr had remained quiet since his conversation with his son—or his son's grandmother, or whoever had actually made the call, anyway—but at least quiet didn't involve any more snarling at Harper. Harper didn't like being around angry Nietzscheans he _could_ shoot; he sure as hell couldn't deal with Tyr acting like that. It wasn't that he didn't understand Tyr's reasoning, it was just….

Another sneeze, and he rocked back on his heels. And then tilted his head back as the hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Tyr still looked remarkably uncomfortable in the low bay, and he'd have snickered if more sneezes hadn't followed on the heels of the first.

"Here." Tyr crouched beside him and handed him a respirator.

Oh. Smart. A few puffs cleared out the dust and helped him get his breathing back under control again, and Harper scowled up at Tyr. Who was having no trouble whatsoever with his breathing. "That's not fair."

Tyr ruffled his hair lightly. "Superior genetics, little man."

"Watch it, or I'll figure out a way to use your ability to breathe against you too." Not that the respirator hadn't been a good idea, and now that he had it he was going to hang on to it, but it was the principal of the thing.

Tyr didn't look particularly cowed. "Come. I found a bit of a mystery in that knife chest."

There was no good reason not to give his lungs a rest, and Harper nodded and grabbed the stack of vaguely-interesting circuit boards he'd found earlier and pushed himself to his feet. At least he could walk around in here without looking as ridiculous as Tyr. Small condolences. "What's this mystery, anyway?"

"A box that I've neither been able to open nor scan."

That sounded vaguely interesting, and Harper stepped aside to let Tyr slide down the ladder first and then followed him down. "What have you tried?"

"The usual. At first I thought it was merely stuck, a product of however many years it's been up here, but when I wasn't able to force it I attempted to run a scan and got nothing."

Presumably 'nothing' didn't mean the empty sort of nothing, and Harper trailed Tyr into his quarters. A new knife was now front and center in Tyr's collection, and he gave it a quick nod. "Pretty." Also giant, with a blade almost as long as Harper's arm, but it had an interesting blue sheen. There were a number of other blades set out on Tyr's table with a variety of tools scattered among them, but it was obvious that he'd spent most of his time cleaning the big one. No surprise.

"Strong as well. Here."

The knife Tyr handed Harper was much smaller, the hilt fitting comfortably, in Harper's hand, but it was the same metal. It had been cleaned too. Tyr pretty much sucked at actually saying the word 'Sorry,' but at least he tried. "Thanks."

Tyr grunted and then pulled a cube forward on the table. "This is it."

"Hm." Harper tucked the knife into his toolbelt and then picked the box up, turning it in his hands. He could see the latch where it should open pretty clearly, Tyr had cleared away the layers of dust and grime, but when he pushed at it with his thumb nothing happened. If Tyr said he couldn't force it there was no chance that Harper would be able to, but he ran his fingers around the top where it should lift up anyway.

Something inside thumped when he shook it, and he set the box back down and picked the scanner up. No doubt he was just repeating what Tyr had already done, but he flipped it on anyway and took a look at the box. The outside registered, the inside...it wasn't showing up as hollow, it didn't even show up at all. He dropped into the diagnostic mode of the scanner and made sure it showed the same before aiming it at Tyr. "Hm. Skeleton, internal organs…good news, Tyr, you haven't been replaced by an android yet."

Tyr scoffed. "Do you have any useful information to provide?"

Harper shook his head and went back to fiddling with the scanner. None of the other modes revealed anything interesting about the contents either, and he flipped it off again and picked the box up. "Let's see if the medical scanner can manage anything. If not I should be able to torch it open, although I kind of hate to do that without knowing what's in it."

"Dangerous?"

"Probably not, especially since I can do a pinpoint opening with a laser torch. Not sure how much heat it'll take, though, which risks damage to the contents." And heat could also mean an explosion or a gas release, although the cube would be a really weird way to package that kind of weapon. He gave the box a quick shake, listening to the dull thump again—whatever was in there, it seemed to be a singular object—and then scratched at the exterior lightly. The now-clean latch looked to be of similar material to the knives... "Any of those not worth your time?" he asked with a nod to the scattered collection on the table.

* * *

Harper was fussing over the medical scanner, and Tyr sat back and let him work. He'd prefer Harper not cut the box open given that probably not dangerous wasn't the same as definitely not dangerous and Harper was absolutely the sort to take unnecessary risks if he found something interesting, but if pressed he'd admit that he was curious as well. Just the knives that Harper had found had made searching the bay worthwhile and he already had plans to sell the ones he wasn't keeping for himself, if there was something someone felt worth locking up in that trunk...

Of course, it was entirely possible that it was just dust and grime holding the box shut and there was nothing of interest in there. There were a number of metals that could block an average scanner; this wasn't one he recognized offhand, but that didn't mean a great deal. It was a big universe. Harper had chopped up one of the knives in a condition that Tyr had thought less than salvageable and—now that he'd confirmed that he could chop it up—had other tests in mind that would provide more information, but that was more likely to be useful when it came to selling the other knives than anything else.

"All right, let's give it a go," Harper said, hopping off the bio-bed.

The scanner hummed to life, and he shifted to look over Harper's shoulder. "It's a box."

"Can't get anything by you. Give it time, it's set up to run a series of progressive scans." He swiped at his forehead and grimaced. "I'm going to grab a shower while we wait."

He'd probably be coated in dust again by the end of the day, but Tyr couldn't say he hadn't done the same thing after he'd brought the trunk of knives down. Tyr gave the box another look and then headed back to his quarters. He'd sent a few messages ahead of them to Rhahat, queries to the few contacts he had if anyone had any work for him, although he wasn't expecting much. Too much competition on a resort planet, especially since it wasn't one where he'd spent a great deal of time building up a reputation.

There was a response to one query, though. Tentative, but from the limited information in the transport request there would only be three passengers. He tapped his fingers lightly against the desktop. He could take that many in comfort easily, especially for such a short journey. In fact, given that he had to return to Rhahat for his next job, there was no reason that he couldn't simply leave Harper on Rhahat while he did the job if Harper was amenable. There was no specific information in the request about who he'd be transporting, but some of the phrasing indicated Nietzscheans and that was a complication that he would prefer to avoid.

Of course, given what had happened recently, any group of Nietzscheans seeking him out were worth extra suspicion and precautions on his part as well. A different complication.

He pushed himself up from the terminal and took down one of his guns, but for once he wasn't in the mood to shoot, and for lack of anything better to do he set it down for a cleaning that it didn't particularly need as his mind began to wander. Again.

It wasn't as if last night was the first time the idea had crossed his mind. It probably wasn't even the hundredth time at this point. It was just that the idea hadn't suddenly become better with the passage of time. Olma would probably insist that it was now worse, in fact, given what had just happened. Not that he'd ever been so foolish as to bring it up with her.

And yet.

Tyr sighed. He visited so many stations in the course of his travels. No matter where Olma and Tamerlane ended up, it was next to impossible that he wouldn't be able to find a legitimate reason to visit. All stations, all settlements, had people passing through in need of transportation. Nowhere in this day and age was so self-sufficient that there weren't some kind of trade goods being brought in and others sent out in return. And it was common for ships' crews to take a few days of leave at the end of a journey.

With a valid excuse to visit, those would be a few days where he might glance Tamerlane at one of his activities, perhaps even evade any scrutiny long enough to share a meal. It would be...he wasn't even sure what it would be. A relief, perhaps? Or maybe it would just make things worse because he would only have to leave again in the end and a second visit would be far too much of a risk.

He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. A first visit was too much of a risk. His primary imperative should be—was—to ensure Tamerlane's survival, and the best way to do that was to leave him where he was. With Olma. She had been matriarch of her Pride with all of the skills that that implied; he'd been on his own since the age of fifteen. And unlike most eldest children in Nietzschean families he hadn't been involved enough with his younger siblings to even know what to do with a small child.

And yet.


	17. Vacation

_Thanks to everyone who read and to Aileil for reviewing._

* * *

Harper stared out into space, fingers working mechanically to strip the circuit board in front of him. It wasn't a task that required his concentration, unlike his new safety vest, which was why he'd switched over to working on it.

Tyr's suggestion that he take some extra vacation time on Rhahat while Tyr did a short transport job for a couple Nietzscheans who wanted to get back to wherever their home system was was a pretty good one, all things considered. Tyr didn't need help with said transport; Harper didn't want to be around non-Tyr Nietzscheans. Still something he'd have to get over eventually, but if Tyr wasn't going to push it, Harper wasn't going to either.

And given what had happened before, it made sense that Tyr would want insurance that said Nietzscheans weren't plotting something unusually nefarious while he did the job. After Madras, in Tyr's place Harper would already be implementing safeguards. Since Tyr was Tyr it was entirely possible that was doing just that and just hadn't seen any reason to go into detail with Harper, but what he _had_ asked for….

Harper put the finished circuit board down and picked up the next, giving the top wires a vicious yank. It was just that his shrillers and flash-bangs, the new lighting program that he'd designed, all of that, they were all meant to take down Nietzscheans. The idea of designing countermeasures _for_ a Nietzschean, even just for Tyr, kind of made his skin crawl.

It wasn't that he didn't believe that Tyr would return his counters to him when the job was over, either. Tyr said he would, so he would. But there was exactly zero chance that he wouldn't copy them for himself first. Nietzschean survivalist paranoia, or whatever he wanted to call it, he was basically incapable of doing anything else. Harper could put in some backdoors, counters to the countermeasures, sure, but even if Tyr wasn't in his league when it came to real engineering, he was more than good enough to make a copy. And backdoors were generally pretty easy to spot when something was in pieces.

There was the quiet hiss of a hatch opening, and Harper turned to see Tyr coming in through the new door. He pushed his unease aside as Tyr took a seat on the bench at his back. "Any luck?"

"None worth mentioning."

"Told you, it'll be easier if I just crack it open at this point." Not that Harper was happy that even the most sensitive setting on the medical scanner wasn't working for the knife box, but there was no good reason that lasering it wouldn't work. It had sliced and diced the knife that Tyr had deemed damaged beyond repair easily enough. The other option was for him to build an even more sensitive scanner, but under the circumstances he didn't see the point. It wasn't like Tyr had any need for fancy scanners for anything else he did.

"Mm." Tyr still looked skeptical.

"Mm," Harper mimicked, elbowing Tyr's shin. "You know you've passed paranoid and gone straight on into ridiculous, right?"

The back of Tyr's hand knocked against the side of Harper's head lightly, and Harper shoved at him automatically even as a bit of the unease in his chest subsided. Something had gone seriously sideways in his life when getting manhandled by an oversized Nietzschean was somehow reassuring, but that was the universe for you.

"What are you doing, anyway?" Tyr asked, reaching down to take the board that Harper was working on.

"One of the spares from up in the bay. I'm stripping them down."

"Why?"

He took it back. "Figure they'll come in handy eventually. Things usually do."

Tyr snorted but didn't disagree with his assessment. "Have you found a place to stay while I'm doing the transport job?"

"There's a place that rents rooms right out on the water." He hesitated. "Probably room for you too when you get back, if you want."

"Provided that it's understood that I have no intention in engaging in your senseless, not to say semi-suicidal sport, I suppose a short vacation would be relaxing."

"Fun-killer." He was going to get Tyr in the water whether he liked it or not. Of course, when the answer to that ended up being 'or not' he was also going to pay for it but it'd be worth it. Tyr would probably only dunk him a few dozen times.

"Have you thought about my request?" Tyr asked after a minute of silence.

Harper sighed. "Can't you just shoot them? I really think it would be more efficient if you just shot them."

"Always an option, but in general I've found that shooting my clients rarely leads to useful things. Payment, for one."

"Yeah, but then they're dead and you're not. You can always sell their luggage."

Tyr chuckled. "It is perhaps fortunate for the universe that you are not Nietzschean."

"Oh, thanks for that horrible thought. Your fault if I end up under a console tonight."

"The fact that you're unable to sleep in your own bunk is hardly my fault, I provided perfectly suitable quarters."

"What do you mean 'unable to sleep'? It's fine." He liked his quarters. He was going to need to hollow out a little space for a new surfboard after this vacation, but it was manageable.

"It's covered in electronics nonsense."

"It's not nonsense. And I can so sleep there, I just sleep around stuff. Don't laugh." Which worked exactly as well as he'd figured that it would, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. As far as he could see, Tyr was still stuck too far in his own head, and Harper didn't mind a few jokes at his own expense. There were more serious considerations to deal with, though, and he sighed again as he tilted his head back to look at Tyr again. " _Really_ promise you'll give them back?" Not that he'd actually developed anything yet, but just the fact that Tyr had asked had been enough to get his mind working, and he had some ideas. And he'd figure out some way to work around his countermeasures when he was building them. Just on principal.

"I will return them to you as soon as I finish the job."

* * *

Tyr reached Harper's room late, inconveniently far from the shipyard as it was, and was raising a hand to bang on the door when it chirped and opened. "Tyr. Admittance authorized."

Hm. Probably sensible of Harper. Especially since it wasn't uncommon for him to find other beds to spend his shore leaves in as Tyr recalled, and Tyr had no intention of walking all the way back to his ship tonight. If he'd realized just how far from the shipyards Harper's room was he'd have rented a skimmer in the first place.

He entered the dark room and dropped his bags by the door. At first he thought that Harper was elsewhere as he took in the unoccupied sleeping platform, but then his ears detected an even heartbeat coming from under the bunk. A quick glance under the platform confirmed Harper's identity, and his immediate inclination was to drag the little professor out, but given Harper's propensity for violence upon being shaken awake that wasn't likely to be relaxing for either of them. And there was only the one bed in the room unless you counted a narrow padded bench along the far wall; since Harper seemed perfectly comfortable where he was there was no sense in Tyr not taking advantage of the situation.

He frowned at the bunk. As long as he slept on the diagonal. The occupants of this planet, or at least their typical vacationers, clearly did not share his stature.

There was a sleepy mutter from underneath as he got himself settled, and then, "Tyr?" from along the floor slightly off to one side.

Tyr snorted and reached down, shoving Harper's head back under the bed. "Go to sleep, professor."

Harper muttered something uncomplimentary in response, but his breathing evened out again shortly thereafter. Tyr closed his eyes as well. He could always take offense at the insult tomorrow.

Tyr awoke again the next morning to the sound of quiet movement. Not someone sneaking around, that would have had him on his feet with a weapon in his hand in an instant, but when he rolled to his feet he wasn't surprised to find Harper messing around with something on the counter near the door. "And just what foodstuffs are you mangling now?"

"Good morning to you too," Harper said, looking up at Tyr as he came up beside him. "Even I can't mangle sandwiches."

"So you claim," Tyr returned, shaking him lightly, although he accepted the sandwich that Harper handed him with a nod of thanks. "Your vacation has been pleasant thus far?"

"Good weather, good waves, and I found a great board," Harper said with a nod. "How was the job?"

"Uneventful. Two sisters returning home after a small trading venture, with a cousin along for security. They confined themselves primarily to their rooms outside of meals." He finished the first sandwich and accepted a second. At least Harper had laid in an appropriate amount of supplies.

"Were they cute?" Harper asked, shifting around and hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter as he started on his own sandwich. "I could have gone with you."

"They would not have given you a second glance."

"You say that like good taste is a bad thing."

Tyr couldn't help a twitch of his lips at Harper's smirk, but there was a darker side to the comment than Harper knew because neither woman had given _him_ a second glance. Even if their Pride was yet another that hadn't been among those entrusted with the truth, and even if they'd been unusually business-focused from what he'd overheard of their conversations, he was still a man of appropriate age and with some resources to his name. As his ship had clearly displayed. And neither woman had worn the bands of mating. Even if they had prospects, perhaps even promises, among their own Pride, the fact that he hadn't even been deemed worthy of so much as a cursory examination or a single question about his lineage….

"Tyr? Hey, where'd your head go?"

He shook himself and returned the light kick to his leg with a cuff. It had been a simple joke on Harper's part, nothing more, and he had enough to deal with without adding the complication of any interest from two low ranking women from a nothing Pride anyway.

"Mean." As usual, Harper didn't look particularly cowed. "Are you sure nothing happened?"

"It was as I said."

Harper gave him a skeptical look but a minute later finished his sandwich and hopped down off the counter and started moving breakfast supplies back to the preserver. "So how much longer are we here for? I assume you wouldn't have bothered coming down if we're supposed to be leaving this afternoon."

"Cargo is loading in two days. Until then you may feel free to continue your asinine attempts to drown yourself." Personally Tyr planned to avail himself of the deck he could see off the back to get some reading done, especially since the weather was as neatly controlled as any resort planet.

"No faith. No faith at all."

Tyr snorted. "Are any of the nearby rooms available for rent?"

"Probably, but why don't you just stay here? Was serious before when I said there was room. I can sleep on the bench."

"Under it, more likely," Tyr said after a moment, but if Harper genuinely didn't object he would take him up on the offer. His trip back had been quiet—his trip _out_ had been quiet—and the little professor's presence was comfortable enough. Even if he could be a bit more perceptive than he needed to be. Of course, on the opposite side of that Tyr would almost certainly have to throw him in the water a few times before he accepted the fact that Tyr wasn't interested in swimming himself, but that was likely to happen no matter where he was staying.

"Eh, that happens anyway," Harper said with a shrug. "It's plenty comfortable."

Personally Tyr disagreed on that point, but if he wasn't the one expected to sleep on the floor he saw no value in arguing about it. "Ah. A moment."

Harper tilted his head but stayed where he was as Tyr retrieved his bag and fished out an oblong device and a pair of sunglasses. "As promised."

Harper looked at them for a long moment and then shook his head. "You might as well hang onto them. They're better than your copies anyway."

Tyr tilted his head. Not that he hadn't copied them, of course, they had value towards his survival and it would go against his very nature to return them without a reproduction to keep for himself. Harper knew him—knew Nietzscheans—more than well enough to know that. He'd known it when he'd made them for Tyr in the first place, although Tyr hadn't expected him not to take them back at all. "Do I want to ask what kind of protections you've built into them?" he asked after a moment.

"Do you think I'd tell you?"

Realistically whatever safeguards Harper had built into his versions had probably been copied into Tyr's replicas as well, and he shook his head and put the devices away. He'd investigate further later. Or beat it out of him.


	18. Swimming

_Thanks to everyone who read and to Garibaldi69 and Aileil for reviewing._

* * *

Harper grinned and kicked free of the transport current and towards the dock of his vacation room. The surfing had been good this morning, but it was getting past time for lunch. And he had a mission to accomplish. He still wasn't quite sure what he'd said wrong this morning, but it had been pretty obvious afterwards that Tyr had gotten stuck in his own head again—that, or maybe he'd never gotten out of it after the call with his kid's grandmother, it was hard to say—and that was just not going to fly. Especially while they were on a resort planet.

Unfortunately trying to drag Tyr into the water earlier had only ended in receipt of a superior look before Tyr broke his grip, grabbed him by the collar, and flung him twenty feet from the dock. And the bastard hadn't even had the courtesy to throw his surfboard and safety vest after him, either. So, plan B.

He could see Tyr lounging out on the deck recliner as he approached, pad in his hand and not even watching the ocean, but there was no chance that that happy state of affairs would hold. Well, probably not, anyway. If Harper could just get a hand around the leg of that recliner, maybe...

But Tyr looked up as he approached, no surprise there, although it was marginally later than Harper had dared think it might be. Harper kicked a bit closer, keeping his face blank as best he could despite Tyr's raised eyebrow. And then as soon as he was within range he stuck his tongue out and let his surfboard rear up before slapping it back down and sending a wave of water over the dock. He might not be able to get Tyr in the water, but he could get him soaked enough that there wasn't too much of a difference. It wasn't quite the same thing, but he'd take it. For now. Tomorrow...antigravs were a definite possibility.

Tyr rolled quickly as the water came at him, tucking his pad out of the way, and Harper backpedaled hard as he realized that Tyr had switched to swim gear. Oops. He hadn't been the only one plotting, clearly.

Harper would bet that he'd spent more of his lifetime in the water than Tyr ever had, but he'd also bet that that wasn't going to make one bit of difference if—when—Tyr got his hands on him, and a quick wriggle had him out of his safety vest. He tossed it onto his surfboard and gave it a shove towards the dock before resumig his backwards motion. This close to the docks there were no currents to carry it off, and he didn't need the extra encumbrance. Or to give Tyr anything else to snag.

There was a splash as Tyr hit the water. Ha, Harper won, although he was probably going to regret it in a few minutes.

The water was deep enough to be fairly dark, even if it was clean, and he came still again and tried to peer below him. There was no chance he was going to get away without getting dunked, but maybe if he could tell where Tyr's attack was coming from—

A hand grabbed his ankle from behind, and his yelp was swallowed by water.

* * *

Tyr shifted his grip quickly. The water would slow down any return strike Harper tried even if he could get real force behind it, which he couldn't even on his best day, but Harper knew that as well as Tyr did, and he could be admirably sneaky. At least with his arms pinned he was marginally less likely to find a way to stick Tyr with something sharp.

Harper squirmed as Tyr let them sink down through the water and nearly managed to drop free of Tyr's hold. He'd gotten out of his vest somewhere along the line which reduced options for grabbing, but Tyr snagged an arm and rolled to push him further under before he could kick away. Not that Tyr was actually entirely against swimming, it was a useful skill and perhaps a reasonable way to cool off when the sun on this planet got to be warmer than he preferred, but it was the principal of the thing. His chair was wet, now.

Harper rolled with him, trying to bring his knees around for a kick that would have some force behind it, and Tyr let him go and then planted a hand on his head and pushed him deeper. And got the distinct suspicion that the noises coming out of Harper's mouth as he swivelled to fully face Tyr were curses. Too bad he was even less understandable underwater than out in open air.

Harper tried to backpedal, but he couldn't move fast enough and Tyr had his ankle within a few seconds. He tried to dive under him and kick back to the surface, but Tyr twisted and caught an elbow and yanked him down yet again. This time Harper's response was a shove, but he hadn't miraculously acquired any muscle in the past few minutes, and Tyr pinned him a second time. And then jerked as something sharp drove under his gauntlet and into sensitive skin at the base of one of his bone spurs hard enough to draw blood. He snarled and his spurs flared as he tightened his grip automatically just as Harper began to thrash.

Even underwater Harper almost managed to bloody Tyr's nose with the back of his head, and Tyr shifted him just in time to take a kick to the kneecap. That was about enough for Tyr, and he shoved Harper downwards with more force than he'd normally have used and kicked himself back to the surface with a scowl. He had no particular argument against roughhousing, but he had no intention of taking actual injuries.

His intention was to tell off Harper when he broke the surface, but when another minute passed with no sign of him Tyr frowned and ducked back under. It was possible that Harper was planning to pull him down, but given the way he'd been behaving a moment ago it seemed unlikely. And since when did Harper willingly acknoledge that bone spurs existed, never mind target them?

Tyr was moving before he consciously thought about it as he caught sight of Harper sinking, almost beyond the range of his eyesight already. Harper was dead weight when he reached him—not much of it fortunately—and it didn't take long to get them back to the surface. "Harper!"

Harper made no response, and as Tyr heaved him onto the dock he realized that he wasn't breathing.

"Harper!"

The shake accomplished nothing, and he scanned the boy for trauma. None that he could see, which wasn't a surprise given that they were in deep water with nothing that he could have hit his head on, but they couldn't have been underwater for more than five minutes. And Harper spent more time in the water than Tyr even had. Even if Tyr's attack had been a surprise, and it obviously hadn't been, there was no way that he'd have accidentally inhaled water when Tyr had pulled him under. He still wasn't breathing, though, and his heartbeat was getting weak, so whatever had happened this was hardly the time for speculation.

Tyr glanced towards their room, but while he could call for help, the odds of it getting here in time were nonexistent. Harper wasn't coughing so pounding on his back wasn't likely to accomplish anything. He grabbed Harper's safety vest off his floating board. The little professor was no fool and knew his lungs were nothing compared to many who enjoyed his asinine sport, he had to have something—

There was some kind of modified rebreather in the top pocket, and he activated it with a touch and forced it into Harper's mouth.


	19. Healing

_Thanks to everyone who read. As always, reviews are appreciated._

* * *

"Accident," Harper said with a roll of his eyes. "Ac-ci-dent. You read a lot; I'm sure you've seen the word. They happen. I'm fine." Unfortunately he was croaking more than saying, and he knew it, and Tyr's scowl wasn't fading even marginally. Not that Harper had particularly _enjoyed_ returning to consciousness in the middle of convulsions while his rebreather forced far more water than he liked from his lungs, but it was what it was, and hey, he wasn't dead. Take the win and all that. A few days with a scratched up throat and whatever you called internally-bruised lungs were a lot better than the alternative.

"You weren't breathing," Tyr repeated.

"But now I am. See." The demonstration would've gone better if his attempt to draw a deep breath wasn't immediately interrupted by a coughing fit, and the fact that Tyr barely touched him rather than thumping his back the way he would have yesterday didn't exactly make him feel better. "Come on, Tyr," he said when he got his breathing under control again. "I've spent most of my life dodging Ubers who wanted—"

The look on Tyr's face was enough to send his teeth clicking together mid-sentence, and then Tyr was out the door.

"Tyr! T—" Another coughing fit cut him off, and by the time he could speak again Tyr was long gone. It only took a second of review to realize what he'd said wrong, and while hadn't meant it like that—he hadn't meant Tyr at all—that had been exactly the wrong time for the U-word to escape. Especially when he knew that Tyr was already blaming himself for what happened. He slapped both hands down against the bunk. "Damn it!"

Unfortunately by the time he got to the door Tyr was out of sight, and trying to chase him down would be a pointless exercise even if he thought he could make it to the end of the dock without coughing fit number whatever. Which he couldn't. Possibly he wouldn't even be able to make it to the end of the dock at all the way his legs felt.

He returned to the bed and boosted himself back onto it with still-shaky arms. His lungs were likely to be the sticking point for getting back to normal, but unless he missed his guess just about every muscle in his body was going to ache for a few days too. Also damn it.

It wasn't even like Tyr had been trying to play rough. He knew full well Harper didn't have the same lung capacity that he did, and from what Harper had understood, he'd cut his expectations down by two-thirds to account for that. It was just that the average Nietzschean could hold his breath for nearly twenty minutes without great difficulty, and Tyr could never be average so he was a bit beyond that. And a third of twenty-some was still more than the average _human_ could handle, especially without any prep time. Harper did know some of the tricks for holding his breath longer, anyone who'd ever played dodge-the-Uber—Nietzschean—did since hyperventilating was a dead give away, but by the time he'd realized that he had a problem he'd already burned too much oxygen for them to be of use.

Harper scowled at the bag sitting out of reach on the floor at the head of the bunk and then sighed and lowered himself back down. And decided to sit on the floor for a while instead of trying to get back up after he'd found his communicator.

"Tyr?"

No response.

"Come on, Tyr, I didn't mean it like that. Or I didn't mean _you_ , anyway." Because Tyr knew full well that he meant it about other Nietzscheans. "I just meant that I've spent most of my life dodging people who wanted to hurt me. This time...well, for once it was just an accident. You pulled me back up as soon as you knew something was wrong. And anyway, I'm _fine_."

Still nothing, and he glared at the communicator. His had some functions that Tyr's didn't, or at least didn't yet, and one of those involved being able to find Tyr, but even if he knew where Tyr had gone it wasn't like he'd be able to get to him. Of course, he could try, and he was pretty sure that Tyr would come find him if he got hurt, but leaving himself vulnerable in some random location on a random vacation planet was not his idea of a great plan.

He touched the communicator again. "Can you at least bring back dinner? We ate most of the sandwich supplies this morning."

* * *

Tyr let himself back into Harper's room with more than a few misgivings. He'd originally gone back to the ship and planned to stay there, but... He shook his head. It was because of him that Harper was in no fit state to be helping himself right now; he could at least ensure that he had adequate supplies.

Whether he was willing to go beyond adequate supplies to helping Harper back to the ship rather than leaving him here on this vacation planet he hadn't decided yet. He hadn't mean to hurt the little professor, obviously, but intentions were irrelevant in the end, and Harper could easily have died at his hands this morning. His grip tightened on the food case he carried. Harper would have no trouble finding work to occupy himself on this planet, and he clearly had missed being in the water, as absurd as Tyr still found the sport. It would probably be better for all concerned if Tyr did leave him behind.

"I was afraid you weren't coming," a voice said out of the darkness as the door shut behind him.

Tyr growled in annoyance. He'd hoped that Harper would be asleep by now.

The light came on, and Harper stuck his tongue out. "Did you bring food?"

"I did." He hesitated for a moment and then brought the case over to where Harper was curled on the far bench, sinking down to sit on the floor in front of him. The little professor still looked too pale, even for him, but at least his lungs sounded clearer now. "You should be asleep."

"I did that earlier."

His voice was still rougher than it should be, and Tyr took the opportunity to probe at him for a moment. Unusually enough, Harper held still until he finished.

"I didn't mean you, Tyr. You know that, right?"

"It is of no consequence." He'd had more important things to worry about than name-calling today, even if that particular term did set his teeth on edge.

"No, it's not. That's like saying that it doesn't matter whether or not you meant to dunk me too long. Hey." He tugged at Tyr's sleeve and rolled his eyes at the raised hand he got in return.

"I clearly don't beat you frequently enough." It was more an automatic reply than anything else, and if Tyr been thinking he'd never have said it, but...habits.

"Which is why you've never found yourself on the wrong side of an airlock."

Tyr frowned and then shifted around so they could actually look at each other without contortion on anyone's part. That was more serious than Harper's usual response to that comment—assuming he deigned to notice it at all, which he mostly didn't these days—and his fingers were still locked on Tyr's sleeve.

Harper stared past Tyr for a moment and then shook his head. "You know how bad you scared me back on Andromeda? In the beginning, I mean?"

"Badly enough," Tyr said after a moment, ruffling his hair lightly. "If I'd realized that the nonsense you kept chattering on about was more than just nonsense, I'd have been a bit more careful about where and when I slept." He hadn't been pleased to discover that weakness in his defenses; overlooking a potential threat simply because he was small and appeared in a constant state of nervousness was the mark of a rank amateur.

"Hey, I am as excellent at running my mouth as everything else," Harper informed him.

"And so modest."

Harper grinned, but it faded just as quickly. "You didn't, though. Hurt me, I mean. Never even a real smack when I was pissing you off about something. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't just because Beka or Dylan would have shot you if you had, either."

"A real blow would break your bones, professor. You're hardly of any benefit to my survival on a bed in medical."

"Yeah, yeah. My point is, I wasn't—I'm still kind of not—exactly used to Nietzscheans who talk to me and treat me like a person."

Tyr couldn't help a real growl at that. "The Drago-Kazov are degenerates who don't deserve to exist, and there is _nothing_ about their behavior that should be considered normal. Of course you're a person. A small and rather poorly built person, but..."

That got a raspberry and then a shrug. "I was born a slave, Tyr. It is what it is. But you're not like them and you said not to call you that so I don't and I wouldn't because you're _not_ like them. Which is also why I know that you'd never hold me underwater on purpose. And don't tell me intent is irrelevant because it's not either. Accidents happen."

"If you were dead, it would be very irrelevant." His jaw tightened. "You very nearly were. Your throat is still raw."

"Not dead. Very un-dead. And my throat will be fine." He jabbed at Tyr's shoulder. "You're my friend and you didn't mean to hurt me and we're both going to deal with it. Especially since I'm not about to let you pull whatever stupid stunt you're planning on to leave me here. Just in case you were wondering."

Tyr had to smile despite himself. "You think you could stop me?"

"I'm an excellent engineer. Anyway, you'd miss me."


	20. Ideas In Transit

_Thanks to everyone who read and to Rillia for reviewing._

* * *

Harper grinned and scooted backwards cautiously along the narrow access corridor. Once he was—

The panel above him was pulled away abruptly and he was swung up and out by the collar of his shirt.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you were dumber," Harper complained, dangling a few inches from the ground in Tyr's grip. He didn't bother struggling; by this point Tyr was compensating automatically for his trick of slipping out of his overshirt, and he hadn't had time to come up with any new variants recently. Well, okay, he had one idea, but he hadn't had time to build what he needed yet so that was pretty solidly irrelevant. And he didn't have—would never have, in these kind of matches—anything like the positioning to kick Tyr hard enough to make him loosen his hold.

Tyr snorted and set him back on the deck before replacing the panel. "Arms up, professor."

"Once again, in a real—"

Tyr came at him, and he brought his arms up automatically to deflect the blow. Not that he wasn't glad that Tyr was roughhousing with him again after a solid week of treating him more like some kind of weirdly breakable crystal than an actual person, but he'd have been absolutely perfectly just fine if he'd stuck to the familiar nudges and cuffs and hadn't gone all the way straight back to sparring matches.

Harper was debating his odds of slipping around Tyr and making a mad dash for the door when the kid-alarm sounded, and he halted immediately and slapped Tyr's arm. "Catch up with you in a bit, big guy."

Tyr nodded, already turning for the door, and for an instant Harper considered tagging after him. Tyr probably wouldn't even notice, and he was a little curious. But that was so far out of line it wasn't worth more than that single moment's thought, and he went to grab some food and then see what he had that that might work as a nerve zapper.

Tyr still hadn't reappeared by the time he'd decided that he'd need to invent a few more specialized components before he'd be comfortable actually using what he was building, and with a frown he decided to hunt Tyr down and see what was up. There was nothing that _had_ to be done, and if Tyr got growly about it Harper could always claim he wanted to steal Tyr's body armor for some upgrades. Which he still did, now that he thought about it.

It didn't look like Tyr had bothered with breakfast which was pretty unusual for him, and Harper wasn't surprised to find him doing his damnedest to destroy one of the machines in the gym. He'd already succeeded with another and given that his blades were up and he didn't even glance over when Harper entered—and there was no chance in the universe he hadn't noticed—Harper went and grabbed him some water and a couple protein bars and then let him be.

At least until dinnertime, where he found Tyr halfway through destroying a _third_ machine, soaked in sweat and the bottle and bars untouched. At which point, shit, because even Harper could tell that his swings were starting to get off center.

He sighed as he watched Tyr go. Smart kludges didn't mess with angry Nietzscheans.

Then again, smart kludges didn't mess with Nietzscheans at all.

He'd long since crossed that bridge.

He grabbed the water and all but stomped his way across the room. Tyr should hear him coming regardless, but he wasn't going to take chances. Especially after what happened on Rhahat. Especially since Tyr was genuinely, seriously, starting to look _uncoordinated_. "Tyr? Come on, time for a break."

Tyr's hand slammed into the machine a little bit harder than before to Harper's eye, and Harper winced as he realized that the wetness marring the matte edge of the dark machine had to be spots of blood. Then again, even Tyr couldn't go on for hours like this without doing some damage to himself despite the wraps around his hands.

He held out the water. "You know, if you break all your toys, you won't have anything to play with while I fix them."

Tyr's head twitched fractionally in his direction.

"Come on." He took another step towards Tyr, still holding the water out. "Please?"

Another hit, but this one was finally marginally lighter, and Tyr straightened a little even as he let his hands fall to his sides. "You shouldn't be here, professor."

" _Shit_." That wasn't just a little bit of blood, now that Tyr had stopped it was pretty obvious that his wraps were soaked with blood and Harper didn't even want to think about what that meant for the state of his knuckles. It wasn't something that Harper had ever seen a Nietzschean let happen, and if Tyr's blades weren't up he'd probably be beside him and grabbing an arm right about now. He was still kind of tempted to do just that despite old instincts, the water bottle in his hand more than half-forgotten. "You shouldn't be here either, you should be in medical." He sucked in his breath as the obvious occurred to him. "Is the kid okay? Did something happen?"

* * *

The little professor was still chattering at him as he finished the job of taping up the tender new skin on the back of the fingers Tyr had pulled out from under the regen unit, but Tyr had stopped paying attention. He couldn't believe that he'd lost control like that. He'd thought to work off a little of his anger following Olma's...declaration...and if pressed he wouldn't have been able to say that he'd been at it for more than two or three hours never mind all day. Never mind to the point of destroying the skin on almost all of his fingers despite having wrapped them. Judging by the way his head felt he was in need of some of that water that Harper had been trying to push on him earlier as well. Not to mention food.

"Tyr? Hey." Harper shook his wrist lightly. "Come on, other hand. Seriously, what happened that messed you up so bad? You said the kid was fine."

"I—yes. Tamerlane is fine," Tyr repeated the answer to the first—and completely understandable—question that Harper had asked. It was something that he could still say with certainty given that Olma had presented the boy to him during the first part of their conversation. He flexed the hand that Harper had just finished with cautiously, ignoring Harper's immediate protest. Unlike his engineer he was not human, and some of the requirements for healing did not apply nearly as strenuously to him.

"So what's wrong, then?" Harper asked.

Tyr felt his jaw clench, his second hand partially outstretched, and only the tug of bandages reminded him that he couldn't fully make a fist yet. He wasn't completely immune to the need to rest and heal. And as it was his blades twitched hard enough to make Harper flinch back which had never been his intention. "Peace, Harper, you're in no danger." He took a stabilizing breath and brought them down again before reaching out the rest of the way.

"Yeah, I know. Still creepy." Harper shook his head and shifted back over and went to work on Tyr's unbandaged hand. "Bad, then."

"She has decided that conversations of any regularity engender too much risk and that from this point on I will simply receive the occasional message as to his well being." With no indication as to what frequency 'occasional' might entail or how he would contact them in case of emergency. He made himself take another deep breath as anger rose again. How was he supposed to—

"What?" Harper looked up at him for a moment. "That's bullshit. I mean, he's your kid. You should be able to talk to him whenever you want. And anyway, you're his dad. Isn't he going to want to talk to you?"

Tyr opened his mouth and closed it again. He understood her reasoning. He did. What Tamerlane was, the promise he held, it wasn't worth risking him just for—

"Tyr?" Harper shook his wrist again lightly. "Hey. What's up?"

"It is complicated."

"Good news, we're in the middle of a space run with a good week to go, and you have to sit still until I finish this hand up anyway."

Tyr stared at him for a moment and the ghost of a chuckle escaped despite the situation. "You are a menace, professor."

"Yep. So?"

Tyr could—probably—end this line of questioning for the time being, but Harper was who he was and unlikely to forget. And he had a fair point about the two of them being stuck here for a bit. And realistically, who else was Tyr going to talk to? "Tamerlane is...special," he said slowly. "Genetically speaking."

"I've seen your pictures and he's not sporting three heads, so what's 'special' in this case?"

Tyr frowned. That was exactly what he did not wish to discuss. Although... "Are you actually interested in Nietzschean genetics and the surrounding politics?"

"Heck no, I think you're all nuts about that stuff, but since you brought it up it must matter."

Considering that Harper had to have lost just about every genetic lottery humans had these days with the obvious exception of intelligence Tyr found that attitude more than a little absurd, but it did serve his purposes. "To a Nietzschean, it certainly matters. To you?" He shrugged. It wasn't strictly true, but the possibility of Tamerlane uniting the Nietzschean people was still many years in the future. "Suffice to say that there are certain Prides that would expend great effort to locate and take him for their own purposes, and because of that it is necessary to take certain precautions. For Olma to keep him hidden where he is, with her."

"Hm." Harper finished taping up the last finger and then scooted back a little, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. "And this is somehow different from the fact that he's your son and some lunatic thought _you'd_ be a good figurehead?"

"The reasoning is similar," Tyr admitted.

"So why don't you just bring him—them—here? Nobody's going to take you without a hell of a fight, and it'd be an even worse if they tried to take your kid."

It was an honest assessment, and a true one as well. "I had considered it at one point," Tyr admitted, "but..." He shook his head. "He is safer where he is."

"Then we'll go visit and you can argue with her in person where she can't just disconnect."

That was not an entirely inaccurate assumption about how their conversation had ended this morning, another thing that had fanned Tyr's anger, but he shook his head again. "Harper, think. Making a deliberate visit to him would put him in far more danger than our conversations ever did. I don't even dare choose a trade route that would take me to him."

Harper scoffed. "Trust in the Harper, the Harper is good. If you can tell me where, I can drop us out of slipstream anywhere in the universe and have an entirely legitimate malfunction to blame. Promise."


End file.
